Chapter XI: Part 11

To-day I have compelled myself to work, and succeeded. My overture in A minor is finished. I think of writing some pieces here, which will be well remunerated.

I beg you will tell me every particular about him, and every detail, no matter how trifling; it will be a comfort to me to hear of him once more. The octett parts, so neatly copied by him, are lying before me at this moment, and remind me of him. I hope shortly to recover my usual equanimity, and to be able to write to you in better spirits and more at length. A new chapter in my life has begun, but as yet it has no title. Your

FELIX.

Paris, February 13th, 1832.

I am now leading a quiet, pleasant life here; neither my present frame of mind, nor the pleasures of society, tempt me to enter into gaiety. Here, and indeed everywhere else, society is uninteresting, and not improving, and owing to the late hours, monopolizing a great deal of time. I do not refuse, however, when there is to be good music. I will write all particulars to Zelter of the first concert in the Conservatoire. The performers there play quite admirably, and in so finished a style, that it is indeed a pleasure to hear them; they delight in it themselves, and each takes the greatest possible trouble; the leader is an energetic, experienced musician, so they cannot fail to go well together.

To-morrow my A minor quartett is to be performed in public. Cherubini says of Beethoven's later music, "Ca me fait eternuer," and so I think it probable that the whole public will sneeze to-morrow. The performers are Baillot, Sauzay, Urhan, and Norblin--the best here.

My overture in A minor is completed; it represents bad weather. A few days ago I finished an introduction, where it thaws, and spring arrives; I have counted the sheets of the "Walpurgis Night," revised the seven numbers a little, and then boldly written underneath--Milan, July; Paris, February. I think it will please you. I must now write an adagio for my quintett without delay; the performers are calling loudly for one, and they are right.

I do wish you could hear a rehearsal of my "Midsummer Night's Dream" at the Conservatoire, where they play it most beautifully. It is not yet certain whether it will be ready by next Sunday; there are to be two more rehearsals before then, but as yet it has only been twice played over. I think however that it will do, and I would rather it was given on Sunday than at the third concert, because I am to play on behalf of the poor on the 26th (something of Weber's), and on the 27th at Erard's concert (my Munich Concerto), and at other places, and I should like my composition to appear first at the "Conservatoire." I am also to play there, and the members are anxious that I should give them a Sonata of Beethoven's; it may seem bold, but I prefer his Concerto in G major, which is quite unknown here.

I look forward with the utmost delight to the symphony in D minor, which is to be rehearsed next week; I certainly never dreamt that I should hear it in Paris for the first time.

I often visit the theatre, where I see a great display of wit and talent, but a degree of immorality that almost exceeds belief. It is supposed that no lady can go to the "Gymnase"--still they do go. Depict me to yourself as reading "Notre Dame," dining with one or other of my acquaintances every day, and taking advantage of the lovely bright spring weather after three o'clock, to take a walk, and to pay a few visits, and to look at the gaily-dressed ladies and gentlemen in the splendid gardens of the Tuileries--then you will have my day in Paris. Adieu.

FELIX.

Paris, February 21st, 1832.

Almost every letter that I receive from you now announces some sad loss. Yesterday I got the one in which you tell me about poor U----, whom I shall no longer find with you; so this is not a time for idle talk; I feel that I must work, and strive to make progress.

I have composed a grand adagio as an intermezzo for the quintett. It is called "Nachruf," and it occurred to me, as I had to compose something for Baillot, who plays so beautifully, and is so kindly disposed towards me, and who wishes to perform it in public; and yet he is only a recent acquaintance. Two days ago my overture to the "Midsummer Night's Dream" was given for the first time at a concert in the Conservatoire. It caused me great pleasure, for it went admirably, and seemed also to please the audience. It is to be repeated at one of the ensuing concerts, and my symphony, which has been rather delayed on this account, is to be rehearsed on Friday or Saturday. In the fourth or fifth concert, I am to play Beethoven's Concerto in G major.

The musicians are all amazement at the honours conferred on me by the Conservatoire. They played my A minor quartett wonderfully last Tuesday, with such fire and precision, that it was delightful to listen to them, and as I can never again hear Ritz, I shall probably never hear it better given. It appeared to make a great impression on the audience, and at the scherzo they were quite uproarious.

It is now high time, dear father, to write you a few words with regard to my travelling plans, and on this occasion in a more serious strain than usual, for many reasons. I must first, in taking a general view of the past, refer to what you designed to be the chief object of my journey; desiring me strictly to adhere to it. I was closely to examine the various countries, and to fix on the one where I wished to live and to work; I was further to make known my name and capabilities, in order that the people, among whom I resolved to settle, should receive me well, and not be wholly ignorant of my career; and, finally, I was to take advantage of my own good fortune, and your kindness, to press forward in my subsequent efforts. It is a happy feeling to be able to say, that I believe this has been the case.

Always excepting those mistakes which are not discovered till too late, I think I have fulfilled the appointed object. People now know that I exist, and that I have a purpose, and any talent that I display, they are ready to approve and to accept. They have _made advances_ to me here, and _proposed_ to take my music, which they seldom do; as all the others, even Onslow, have been obliged to _offer_ their compositions. The London Philharmonic have requested me to perform something new of my own there on the 10th of March. I also got the commission from Munich without taking any step whatever to obtain it, and indeed not till _after_ my concert. It is my intention to give a concert here (if possible) and certainly in London in April, if the cholera does not prevent my going there; and this on my own account, in order to make money; I hope, therefore, I may say that I have also fulfilled this part of your wish--that I should make myself known to the public before returning to you.

Your injunction, too, to make choice of the country that I preferred to live in, I have equally performed, at least in a general point of view. That country is Germany. This is a point on which I have now quite made up my mind. I cannot yet, however, decide on the particular city, for the most important of all, which for various reasons has so many attractions for me. I have not yet thought of in this light--I allude to Berlin. On my return, therefore, I must ascertain whether I can remain and establish myself there, according to my views and wishes, after having seen and enjoyed other places.

This is also why I do not endeavour to get the commission for an opera here. If I compose really good music, which in these days is indispensable, it will both be understood and valued in Germany. (This has been the case with all the good operas there.) If I compose indifferent music, it will be quickly forgotten in Germany, but here it would be often performed and extolled, and sent to Germany, and given there on the authority of Paris, as we daily see. But I do not choose this; and if I am not capable of composing good music, I have no wish to be praised for it. So I shall first try Germany; and if things go so badly that I can no longer live there, I can then have recourse to some foreign country. Besides, few German theatres are so bad or in so dilapidated a condition as the Opera Comique here. One bankruptcy succeeds another. When Cherubini is asked why he does not allow his operas to be given there, he replies, "Je ne sais pas donner des operas, sans choeur, sans orchestre, sans chanteurs, et sans decorations." The Grand Opera has bespoken operas for years to come, so there is no chance of anything being accepted by it for the next three or four years.

In the meantime therefore I intend to return to you to write my "Tempest," and to see how it succeeds. The plan, therefore, dear father, that I wish to lay before you is this--to remain here till the end of March, or the beginning of April, (the invitation to the Philharmonic for the 10th of March, I have of course declined, or rather postponed,) then to go to London for a couple of months. If the Rhenish musical festival takes place, to which I am summoned, I shall go to Duesseldorf; and if not, return direct to you by the shortest road, and be by your side in the garden soon after Whitsunday. Farewell!

FELIX.

Paris, March 15th, 1832.

Dear Mother,

[Music]

This is the 15th of March, 1832. May every happiness and good attend you on this day. You prefer _receiving_ my letter on your birthday, to its being written on the day itself; but forgive me for saying that I cannot reconcile myself to this. My father said that no one could tell what might occur subsequently, therefore the letter ought to arrive on the anniversary of the day; but then I have this feeling in _double_ measure, as I neither in that case know what is to occur to _you_ on that day, nor to _myself_; but if your birthday be actually arrived, then I almost feel as if I were beside you, though you cannot hear my congratulations; but I can then send them to you, without any other solicitude than that of absence. This too will soon be over, please God. May He preserve you, and all at home, happily to me!

I have now begun to throw myself in right earnest into a musical life, and as I know this must be satisfactory to you, I will write some details; for a letter and a sketch-book that I wished to send you some days ago by Mortier's aide-de-camp, are still waiting, like all Paris, for the departure of the Marshal, which does not however take place. If the letter and the book do eventually reach you through this man, pray give a kind reception to the whole consignment, but especially to the man (Count Perthuis), for he is one of the most friendly and amiable persons I ever met with.

I had told you in that letter, that I am to play Beethoven's Concerto in G major two days hence, in the Conservatoire, and that the whole Court are to be present for the first time at the concert. K---- is ready to poison me from envy; he at first tried by a thousand intrigues to prevent my playing altogether, and when he heard that the Queen was actually coming, the did everything in his power to get me out of the way. Happily all the other members of the Conservatoire, the all-powerful Habeneck in particular, are my faithful allies, and so he signally failed. He is the only musician here who acts unkindly and hypocritically towards me; and though I never placed much confidence in him, still it is always a very painful sensation to know that you are in the society of a person who hates you, but is careful not to show it.

The 17th.

I could not finish this letter, because during the last few days the incessant music I told you of, has been so overwhelming, that I really scarcely knew which way to turn. A mere catalogue therefore of all I have done, and have still to do, must suffice for to-day, and at the same time plead my excuse.

I have just come back from a rehearsal at the Conservatoire. We rehearsed steadily; twice yesterday, and to-day almost everything repeated, but now all goes swimmingly. If the audience to-morrow are only half as enchanted as the orchestra to-day, we shall do well; for they shouted loudly for the adagio _da capo_, and Habeneck made them a little speech, to point out to them that at the close there was a solo bar, which they must be so good as to wait for. You would be gratified to see all the little kindnesses and courtesies the latter shows me. At the end of each movement of the symphony, he asks me if there is anything I do not approve of, so I have been able for the first time, to introduce into the French orchestra some favourite _nuances_ of my own.

After the rehearsal Baillot played my octett in his class, and if any man in the world can play it, he is the man. His performance was finer than I ever heard it, and so was that of Urhan, Norblin, and the others, who all attacked the piece with the most ardent energy and spirit.

Besides all this, I must finish the arrangement of the overture and the octett, and revise the quintett, as Simrock has bought it. I must write out "Lieder," and enjoy the author's delight of working up my B minor quartett, for it is to be brought out here by two different publishers, who have requested me to make some alterations before it is published. Finally, I have _soirees_ every evening. To-night Bohrer's; to-morrow a fete, with all the violin _gamins_ of the Conservatoire; next day, Rothschild; Tuesday, the Societe des Beaux-Arts; Wednesday my octett at the Abbe Bardin's; Thursday my octett at Madame Kiene's; Friday, a concert at Erard's; Sunday, a concert at Leo's; and lastly, on Monday--laugh if you choose--my octett is to be performed in a church, at a funeral Mass in commemoration of Beethoven. This is the strangest thing the world ever yet saw, but I could not refuse, and I in some degree enjoy the thoughts of being present, when Low Mass is read during the scherzo. I can scarcely imagine anything more absurd than a priest at the altar and my scherzo going on. It is like travelling _incognito_. Last of all Baillot gives a grand concert on the 7th of April, and so I have promised him to remain here till then, and to play a Concerto of Mozart's for him, and some other piece.

On the 8th I take my place in the diligence, and set off to London, but before doing so I shall have heard my symphony in the Conservatoire, and sold various pieces, and shall leave this, rejoicing in the friendly reception I have met with from the musicians here.--Farewell!

FELIX.

Paris, March 31st, 1832.

Pray forgive my long silence, but I had nothing cheering to communicate, and am always very unwilling to write gloomy letters. Indeed, this being the case, I had better still have remained silent, for I am in anything but a gay mood. But now that we have the spectre here,[32] I mean to write to you regularly, that you may know that I am well, and pursuing my work.

[32] The cholera.

The sad news of Goethe's loss makes me feel poor indeed! What a blow to the country! It is another of those mournful events connected with my stay here, which will always recur to my mind at the very name of Paris; and not all the kindness I have received, nor the tumult and excitement, nor the life and gaiety here, can ever efface this impression. May it please God to preserve me from still worse tidings, and grant us all a happy meeting; this is the chief thing!

Various circumstances have induced me to delay my departure from here for at least a fortnight,--that is, till the middle of April; and the idea of my concert has begun to revive in my mind; I mean to accomplish it too, if the cholera does not deter people from musical, or any other kind of reunions. We shall know this in the course of a week, and in any case I must remain here till then. I believe however that everything will go on in the usual regular course, and "Figaro" prove to be in the right, who wrote an article called "Enfonce le cholera," in which he says that Paris is the grave of all reputations, for no one there ever admired anything; yawning at Paganini (he does not seem to please much this time), and not even looking round in the street at an Emperor or a Dey; so possibly this malady might also lose its formidable reputation there.

Count Perthuis has no doubt told you of my playing at the Conservatoire. The French say that it was _un beau succes_, and the audience were pleased. The Queen, too, sent me all sorts of fine compliments on the subject. On Saturday I am again to play twice in public. My octett, in church on Monday last, exceeded in absurdity anything the world ever saw or heard of. While the priest was officiating at the altar during the scherzo, it really sounded like "Fliegenschnauz und Mueckennas, verfluchte Dilettanten." The people however considered it very fine sacred music.

I am indeed delighted, dear Father, that my quartett in B minor pleases you; it is a favourite of mine, and I like to play it, although the adagio is much too cloying; still, the scherzo that follows has all the more effect. I can see that you seem rather inclined to deride my A minor quartett, when you say that there is a piece of instrumental music which has made you rack your brains to discover the composer's thoughts; when, in fact, he probably had no thoughts at all. I must defend the work, for I love it; but it certainly depends very much on the way in which it is executed, and one single musician who could perform it with zeal and sympathy, as Taubert did, would make a vast difference.--Your

FELIX.

EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM LONDON.

London, April 27th, 1832.

I wish I could only describe how happy I feel to be here once more; how much I like everything, and how gratified I am by the kindness of old friends; but as it is all going on at this moment, I must be brief for to-day.

I have also a number of people to seek out whom I have not yet seen, whilst I have been living with Klingemann, Rosen, and Moscheles, in as close intimacy as if we had never been parted. They form the nucleus of my present sojourn; we see each other every day; it is such a pleasure to me to be once more with good, earnest men, and true friends, with whom I do not require to be on my guard, nor to study them either. Moscheles and his wife show me a degree of touching kindness, which I value the more as my regard for them increases; and then the feeling of restored health, as if I lived afresh, and had come anew into this world--all these are combined.[33]

[33] Felix Mendelssohn had an attack of cholera during the last
weeks of his stay in Paris.

May 11th.

I cannot describe to you the happiness of these first weeks here. As from time to time every evil seems to accumulate, as it did during my winter in Paris, where I lost some of my most beloved friends, and never felt at home, and at last became very ill; so the reverse sometimes occurs, and thus it is in this charming country, where I am once more amongst friends, and am well, and among well-wishers, and enjoy in the fullest measure the sensation of returning health. Moreover it is warm, the lilacs are in bloom, and music is going on: only imagine how pleasant all this is!

I must really describe one happy morning last week: of all the flattering demonstrations I have hitherto received, it is the one which has most touched and affected me, and perhaps the only one which I shall always recall with fresh pleasure. There was a rehearsal last Saturday at the Philharmonic, where however nothing of mine was given, my overture not being yet written out. After "Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony," during which I was in a box, I wished to go into the room to talk to some old friends; scarcely, however, had I gone down below, when one of the orchestra called out, "There is Mendelssohn!" on which they all began shouting, and clapping their hands to such a degree, that for a time I really did not know what to do; and when this was over, another called out "Welcome to him!" on which the same uproar recommenced, and I was obliged to cross the room, and to clamber into the orchestra and return thanks.

Never can I forget it, for it was more precious to me than any distinction, as it showed me that the _musicians_ loved me, and rejoiced at my coming, and I cannot tell you what a glad feeling this was.

May 18th.

Dear Father,

I have received your letter of the 9th; God grant that Zelter may by this time be safe, and out of danger! You say indeed that he already is so, but I shall anxiously expect your next letter, to see the news of his recovery confirmed. I have dreaded this ever since Goethe's death, but when it actually occurs, it is a very different thing. May Heaven avert it!

Pray tell me also what your mean by saying "there is no doubt that Zelter both wishes, and requires, to have you with him, because, at all events for the present, it is quite impossible for him to carry on the Academy, whence it is evident that if you do not undertake it, another must." Has Zelter expressed this wish to you, or do you only imagine that he entertains it? If the former were the case, I would instantly, on receiving your reply, write to Zelter, and offer him every service in my power, of every kind, and try to relieve him from all his labours, for as long a period as he desired; and this it certainly would be my duty to do.

I intended to have written to Lichtenstein before my return about the proposal formerly made to me,[34] but of course I have given up all thoughts of doing so at present; for on no account would I assume that Zelter could not resume his duties, and even in that event, I could not reconcile myself to discuss the matter with any one but himself; every other mode of proceeding I should consider unfair towards him. If however he requires my services, I am ready, and shall rejoice if I can be of any use to him, but still more so, if he does not want me, and is entirely recovered. I beg you will write me a few words on this subject.

[34] In reference to a situation in the Singacademie.

I must now inform you of my plans and engagements till I leave this. Yesterday I finished the "Rondeau brillant," and I am to play it this day week at Mori's evening concert. The day after I rehearse my Munich Concerto at the Philharmonic, and play it on Monday the 28th at their concert; on the 1st of June Moscheles' concert, where, with him, I play a Concerto of Mozart's for two pianos, and conduct my two overtures, "The Hebrides" and "The Midsummer Night's Dream." Finally, the last Philharmonic is on the 11th, where I am to conduct some piece.

I must finish the arrangement for Cramer, and some "Lieder" for the piano, also some songs with English words, besides some German ones for myself, for after all it is spring, and the lilacs are in bloom. Last Monday "The Hebrides" was given for the first time in the Philharmonic; it went admirably, and sounded very quaint among a variety of Rossini pieces. The audience received both me and my work with extreme kindness. This evening is Mr. Vaughan's concert; but I am sure you must be quite sick of hearing of so many concerts, so I conclude.

Norwood, Surrey, May 25th.

These are hard times, and many are laid low![35] May it please God to preserve you all to me, and to grant us a joyful meeting! You will receive this letter from the same villa whence I wrote to you three years ago last November, just before my return.

[35] He had received the news of Zelter's death.

I have now come out here for a few days to rest, and to collect my thoughts, just as I did at that time, on account of my health. All is unchanged here; my room is precisely the same; even the music in the old cupboard stands exactly in the same spot; the people are quite as considerate, and quiet, and attentive as formerly, and the three years have passed over both them and their house, as peacefully as if half the world had not been uprooted during that period.

It is pleasant to see; the only difference is, that we have now gay spring, and apple-blossoms, and lilacs, and all kinds of flowers, whereas at that time we had autumn, with its fogs and blazing fires; but how much is now gone for ever, that we then still had; this gives much food for thought. Just as at that time I wrote to you saying little, save "farewell till we meet;" so must it be to-day also. It will indeed be a graver meeting, and I bring no "Liederspiel" with me composed in this room, as the former one was, but God grant I may only find you all well.

You write, dear Fanny, that I ought especially to hasten my return, in order if possible to secure the situation in the Academy; but this I do not choose to do. I shall return as soon as I can, because my father writes that he wishes me to do so; I therefore intend to set off in about a fortnight, but solely for _that_ reason; the other motive would rather tend to detain me here, indeed, if any motive could do so; for I will in no manner solicit the situation.

When I reminded my father formerly of the proposal of the Director, the reason which he then advanced against it, seemed to me perfectly just; he said that he regarded this place rather as a sinecure for more advanced years, "when the Academy might be resorted to as a harbour of refuge." For the next few years I aspire as little to _this_ as to any other situation; my purpose is to live by the fruits of my labours, just as I do here, and my resolve is to be independent. Considering the peculiar position of the Academy, the small salary they give, and the great influence they might exercise, the place of Director seems to me only an honourable post, which I have no desire to _sue_ for. If they were to offer it to me, I would accept it, because I promised formerly to do so; but only for a settled time and on certain conditions; and if they do not intend to offer it, then my presence can be of no possible use. I do not certainly require to convince them of my capability for the office, and I neither will, nor can, intrigue. Besides, for the reasons I mentioned in a previous letter, I cannot leave England till after the 11th, and the affair will no doubt be decided before that time.

I beg that no step of any kind may be taken on my behalf, except _that_ which my father mentioned concerning my immediate return; but nothing in the smallest degree approaching to solicitation; and when they do make their choice, I only hope that they may find a man who will perform his duties with as much zeal as old Zelter.

I received the intelligence in the morning just as I was going to write to him; then came a rehearsal of my new piece for the piano, with its wild gaiety, and when the musicians were applauding and complimenting me, I could not help feeling strongly, that I was indeed in a foreign land. I then came here, where I found both men and places unchanged; but Hauser unexpectedly arrived, and we fell into each other's arms, and recalled the happy days we had enjoyed together in South Germany the previous autumn, and all that has passed away for ever, during the last six months. Your mournful news was always present to me in its sad reality--so this is the manner in which I have spent the last few days here. Forgive me for not being able to write properly to-day. I go to town this evening to play, and also to-morrow, Sunday, and Monday.

I have now a favour to ask of you, dear Father, in reference to the cantatas of Sebastian Bach, which Zelter possessed. If you can possibly prevent their being disposed of before my return, pray do so, for I am most anxious at any price to see the entire collection before it is dispersed.

I might have told you of many agreeable things that have occurred to me during the last few weeks, for every day brings me fresh proofs that the people like me, and are glad to associate with me; which is gratifying, and makes my life here easy and pleasant; but to-day I really cannot. Perhaps in my next letter my spirits may be sufficiently restored, to return to my usual narrative style.

Many remembrances from the Moscheles; they are excellent people, and after so long an interval, it is most cheering once more to meet an artist, who is not a victim to envy, jealousy, or miserable egotism. He makes continued and steady progress in his art.

The warm sun is shining out-of-doors, so I shall now go down into the garden, to perform some gymnastics there, and to smell the lilacs; this will show you that I am well.

London, June 1st.

On the day that I received the news of Zelter's death, I thought that I should have had a serious illness, and indeed during the whole of the ensuing week I could not shake off this feeling. My manifold engagements however have now diverted my thoughts, and brought me to myself, or rather out of myself. I am well again, and very busy.

First of all I must thank you, dear Father, for your kind letter. It is in a great measure already answered by my previous one, but I will now repeat why I decline sending any application to the committee.

In the first place, I quite agree with your former opinion, that this situation in the Academy is not desirable at the outset of my career; indeed I could only accept it for a certain time, and under particular conditions, and even then, solely to perform my previous promise. If I solicit it, I am bound to accept the place, as they choose to give it, and to comply with their conditions as to salary, duties, etc., though I do not as yet even know what these are.

In the second place, the reason they gave you why I should write, seems to me neither a true nor a straightforward one. They say they wish to be certain I will accept of it, and that on this account I must enroll myself among the candidates; but they _offered_ it to me three years ago, and Lichtenstein said they did so to ascertain if I would take it, and begged me to give a distinct answer on this point; at that time I said _yes_, that I was willing to carry it on, along with Rungenhagen. I am not sure that I should think the same now; but as I said so then, I can no longer draw back, and must keep my word. It is not necessary to repeat my assent, for as I once gave it, so it must remain; still less can I do so when I should have to _offer_ myself to them for the post they once _offered to me_. If they were disposed to adhere to their former offer, they would not require me to take a step which they took themselves three years ago; on the contrary, they would remember the assent I then gave, for they must know that I am incapable of breaking such a promise.

A confirmation of my former promise is therefore quite unnecessary, and if they intend to appoint another to the situation, my letter would not prevent their doing so. I must further refer to my letter from Paris, in which I told you that I wished to return to Berlin in the spring, as it was the only city in Germany with which I was still unacquainted.

This is my well-weighed purpose; I do not know how I shall get on in Berlin, or whether I shall be able to remain there,--that is, whether I shall be able to enjoy the same facilities for work, and progress, that are offered to me in other places. The only house that I know in Berlin is our own, and I feel certain I shall be quite happy there; but I must also be in a position to be actively employed, and this I shall discover when I return. I hope that all will come to pass as I wish, for of course the spot where _you_ live must be always dearest to me; but till I know this to a certainty I do not wish to fetter myself by any situation.

I conclude, because I have a vast deal to do to enable me to set off after the next Philharmonic. I must publish several pieces before I go; I receive numbers of commissions on all sides, and some so gratifying that I exceedingly regret not being able to set to work at once.

Among others, I this morning got a note from a publisher, who wishes me to give him the score of two grand pieces of sacred music, for morning and evening service; you may imagine how much I am pleased with this proposal, and immediately on my arrival in the Leipziger Strasse I intend to begin them.

"The Hebrides" I mean to reserve for a time for myself, before arranging it as a duet; but my new rondo is in hand, and I must finish those everlasting "Lieder" for the piano, as well as various other arrangements, and probably the Concerto. I played it last Monday in the Philharmonic, and I think I never in my life had such success. The audience were crazy with delight, and declared it was my best work.

I am now going to Moscheles' concert, to conduct there, and to play Mozart's Concerto, in which I have inserted two long cadences for each of us.

FELIX.

THE END