musical notation
when he suddenly said, “I’ll tell you what, you shall have one of these autographs; I will make you a present of it, for you take as great delight in them as I do; choose which you prefer,—the preludes or the ‘Passecaille.’” This was really no trifling gift, for I knowthat he has been offered a considerable sum of money for these pieces, but he refused to part with them, and I would myself have paid a good price for them had they been for sale, and now he freely gives me one; but the question is, which shall I take? I have by far the strongest inclination for the preludes, because they begin with the “Altes Jahr,” because they include other great favourites of mine, and because the “Passecaille” and the fugue are already published. But you must also have a voice in the matter, for you will feel no common interest in it. So send me your vote,Cantor!
Is not Guhr a most singular being? and yet I can get on better with him than with any other of the Frankfort musicians. He enjoys life, and lives and lets live, but is sharp enough as a director, and beats common time so distinctly that they cannot fail to play to it, as if they were in arm-chairs; and my other colleagues here are so desperately melancholy, and always talking of musical critiques, and recognition, and flattering testimonials, and constantly thinking about themselves, and constantly fishing for compliments (but these compliments must be genuine; they even aspire to outpourings of the heart!). This is both provoking and sad; and yet (behind people’s backs) they can play as mad pranks as any one. Much as I like Frankfort for a summer visit, I do not wish to be settled here as a musician, owing to all the above reasons, and many others besides.
At the concert of the St. Cecilia Association, where I had an opportunity of fairly estimating their musical organization, I felt quite melancholy at the difference between our sense of music in Leipzig and what was given here; for though it goes on very fairly, and sometimes sounds well, still, as a rule, it seems as if they were playing from sheer weariness, or from compulsion, and vastly little of that zeal and love are apparent in the orchestra which so often prevail among us. In fact, when I compare the whole elements of the orchestra here with ours at Leipzig, I feel just as I did when I returned from Düsseldorf, and thought myself in Paradise. The St. Cecilia Association, too, has deteriorated, which is not the fault of one person or another, but of all combined, for the soil here is far from being favourable to music, though all the better for apples and cherries and wine, and other good things. I wish you could see the Sachsenhäusen hill at this moment, with all its ripe cherries and blooming vines! Moreover, there are many delightful people here, and some among them genuinely musical. For painting much is done, and it seems to be making real progress. This is a very different life from what it was three or four years ago when I was here, and found everything disorganized by discord and strife.
A tolerably good, though not very extensive exhibition of paintings is just closed, which contained some admirable, and many very pretty things. This change of tuneand subject brings us back to Hensel. When does he go to England? when does he return? does he take any pictures with him? and what may they be? are you going to Italy? do I know anything of anything? I am writing a trio (the first part is finished), a sonata for the violin (ditto), a symphony (not ditto), and a letter to you (which is now quite finished). But when will you write to me?—Your
Felix.
Hochheim, near Coblenz, August 1st, 1839.
My dearest Friend,
I earnestly hope that you may fulfil your intention of visiting us late in the autumn. The time seems to me endless till you become acquainted with my wife; besides, it is indeed very long since you and I have conversed in the unreserved confidence of home. When I was in England, two years ago, my wife kept a small diary, which she began after our marriage, and every day during my stay in England she left a blank space in its pages, that I might write the record of my days opposite to hers. For some time past I have accustomed myself to do this, and entered every detail minutely into the little green book (you ought to know it, for you gave it to me in 1832),—the date of Rosen’s death, that of my visit to Birmingham, etc. Now I havearrived exactly at the anniversary, and my diary clearly shows me how much I was then out of sorts, and very different from what I ought to have been. The constant publicity, the grand scale of things on every side, in fact, everything around me attracted me less than formerly, and made me feel bewildered and irritable. May we therefore soon meet in Germany! You certainly would not enjoy yourself less here after England, and I do delight in this beautiful country. The summer months I recently passed in Frankfort have thoroughly refreshed me; in the morning I worked, then bathed or sketched; in the afternoon I played the organ or the piano, and afterwards rambled in the forest, then into society, or home, where I always found the most charming of all society: this was the mode in which my life was agreeably spent, and you must add to all this the glorious summer days which followed each other in uninterrupted succession.
We have now been here nearly a fortnight, and three or four days hence we intend to go up the Rhine, back to Frankfort, and return to Leipzig about the middle of the month. Your wish to have X—— in London (though very natural, I admit), is one in which we do not at all agree, and yet my reasons are by no means egotistical,—quite the reverse. I am convinced that it would not be for his benefit, were he to assume a position in the world which would oblige him to take an interest in so many things, not only foreign to art, but actuallyadverse to it. A certain number of guineas might accrue to him, but no real gain, either for his happiness or his progress in art. Formerly I used positively to hate all speculators in art, but now I feel chiefly compassion for them, because I see so few who are at rest; it is a never-ending strife for money and fame, and the most superior talents, as well as inferior ones, join in it. Highly as I esteem X——, I am by no means sure that he would not make shipwreck on this rock, and even if he did not lose the brightest part of his genius, he would certainly have to deplore the best part of his life and happiness; and after all, for what? The reformation and improvement of individual cities, even were they as important as London, is in fact either impossible or indifferent; but if a man only strives thoroughly to perfect his own being, and to purify himself by degrees from all dross, in acting thus he is working for all cities alike; and if he does so even in a village, his labours are certain to make their way into the world, and there to exercise their due influence. I would rather, therefore, that X—— remained in Germany wherever music is most appreciated; but you must not ask me where that is,—whether at Frankfort or Vienna? but it lies in the air no doubt; therefore I shall always advise his not leaving Germany.
Planché’s work gets on very slowly, and possibly I may have a new oratorio ready before his text is completed. The number of friends that “St. Paul” hasgained me is really quite remarkable. I could never have anticipated it. It was performed twice at Vienna in the spring, and they want to have a festival there in November, with one thousand performers (“St. Paul” is to be given), which I shall probably go to conduct. This has surprised me the more, because no other work of mine has ever made its way into Vienna. I must be in Brunswick for the Musical Festival the end of this month, in order to conduct “St. Paul;” and it is always a source of twofold pleasure to me when I have no personal acquaintances in a place, which will be the case there.
My new pieces are a trio, completed for piano, violin, and violoncello, in D minor; a book of four-part songs, to be sung in the open air; some songs for one voice, organ fugues, half a Psalm, etc. I mean to continue the four-part songs, and have thought a good deal about the capabilities of this style; and it does seem the most natural of all music when four people are rambling together in the woods, or sailing in a boat, and have the melody all ready with them and within them. In quartetts for male voices alone, both for musical and other reasons, there is something prosaic in the four male voices, which has always been perceptible; whereas in those I allude to, the combination of male and female voices will sound more poetical, and this will, I hope, also be perceptible.
Do send me a song or two, to sing in autumn, orbetter still, in summer, or in spring, or on the water, on the grass, or on a bridge, or in the woods, or in the garden; to the stork, or to a kind Providence, or to the people of the cities and plains, or for a dance, or a wedding, or as asouvenir. It might be a popular romance!
I should like much to hear your sentiments about the events in your Fatherland;[35]they interest me more than you perhaps imagine. Be sure you come to us the end of autumn! Cecilia says your room is ready, and sends you her remembrances.—I am always yours.
Felix M. B.
Frankfort, July 3rd, 1839.
Dear Mother,
We are leading the most agreeable, happy life imaginable here. I am therefore resolved not to go away till obliged to do so, and to give myself up entirely for the present to a sense of comfort and pleasure. The most delightful thing I ever saw in society was afêtein the forest here: I really must tell you all about it, because it was unique of its kind. Within a quarter of an hour’s drive from the road, deep in the forest where lofty spreading beech-trees stand in solitary grandeur, forming an impenetrable canopy above, and where all around nothing; was to be seen but greenfoliage glistening through innumerable trunks of trees,—this was the locality. We made our way through the thick underwood, by a narrow footpath, to the spot, where on arriving, a number of white figures were visible in the distance, under a group of trees, encircled with massive garlands of flowers, which formed the concert-room. How lovely the voices sounded, and how brilliantly the soprano tones vibrated in the air; what charm and melting sweetness pervaded every strain! All was so still and retired, and yet so bright! I had formed no conception of such an effect. The choir consisted of about twenty good voices; during the previous rehearsal in a room, there had been some deficiencies, and want of steadiness. Towards evening, however, when they stood under the trees, and uplifting their voices gave my first song, “Ihr Vöglein in den Zweigen schwank,” it was so enchanting in the silence of the woods, that it almost brought tears to my eyes. It sounded like genuine poetry. The scene too was so beautiful; all the pretty female figures in white, and Herr B—— standing in the centre, beating time in his shirt sleeves, and the audience seated on camp stools, or hampers, or lying on the moss. They sang through the whole book, and then three new songs which I had composed for the occasion. The third (“Lerchengesang”) was rather exultingly shouted than sung, and repeated three times, while in the interim strawberries, cherries, and oranges were served on the most delicate china, and quantities ofice and wine and raspberry syrup carried round. People were emerging in every direction out of the thicket, attracted from a distance by the sound of the music, and they stretched themselves on the ground and listened.
As it grew dark, great lanterns and torches were set up in the middle of the choir, and they sang songs by Schelble and Hiller, and Schnyder, and Weber. Presently a large table, profusely decorated with flowers and brilliantly lighted, was brought forward, on which was an excellent supper with all sorts of good dishes and wines; and it was most quiet withal, and lonely in the wood, the nearest house being at the distance of at least an hour, and the gigantic trunks of the trees looking every moment more dark and stern, and the people under their branches more noisy and jovial. After supper they began again with the first song, and sang through the whole six, and then the three new ones, and the “Lerchengesang” once more three times over. At length it was time to go; in the thicket we met the waggon in which all the china and plate was to be taken back to the town; it could not stir from the spot, nor could we either, but we contrived to get on at last, and arrived about midnight at our homes in Frankfort. The donors of thefêtewere detained in the forest till two o’clock, packing up everything, and lost their way along with the large waggon, finding themselves unexpectedly at Isenburg; so they did not get home till long afterwards. There were three familieswho had the merit of this idea, and whom we have to thank for this memorablefête. Two of these we were not at all acquainted with, and the third only slightly. I know now how songs ought to sound in the open air, and hope shortly to compose a gay book of them.
It must be tiresome enough for you to read descriptions offêteslong past, and indeed such descriptions are of no great interest even to those who were present, but far more trying to those who were not; and yet I cannot resist telling you also of an entertainment given by Herr E——, which took place last week, because I know you rejoice in any marks of honour bestowed on me, and this was indeed a very great one. We were invited, along with many whom we knew and some whom we did not know, chiefly members of the St. Cecilia Association. First, we had some music, and played and sang; then, the door of a dark room was thrown open, and from an opposite direction resounded my overture to the “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” While it was being played a curtain drew up, and displayed a most charming tableau, Titania sleeping in a flower; hovering over her was Cobweb spreading out the curtain, Peaseblossom fanning her, Moth, and the others,—all represented by lovely young girls; and a whole succession of tableaux followed, accompanied by my music. The second was a German girl of the olden time in her chamber, while her lover, in rain and snow, was singing under herwindow, “Leucht’t heller als die Sonne,” which seemed to please her uncommonly. This was succeeded by an “Ave” for eight voices, with the Angel, bearing a lily in his hand, appearing to the kneeling Mary. Then came a beautiful Zuleika, in a Persian apartment, who, without changing her attitude, sang my song in E minor very sweetly and prettily. This was followed by a masterpiece—Spanish peasants’ nuptials,—three handsome couples of lovers dancing, admirably costumed and placed, and behind them a pathetic Don Quixote, when the little chorus in C, “Nun zündet an” was appropriately sung. Next came a youth with a small neckcloth and a large shirt-collar, in a vineyard with a sketch-book, and he sang “Ist es wahr?” and most charmingly he sang it. Seventhly (for I am now falling into the catalogue style), a chapel, with a handsome Gothic (mock) organ, at which was seated a nun, with two others standing by her, who sang from the printed music “Beati omnes,” the choir responding behind the scenes. Eighthly, two girls at a well, singing by heart, in the most enchanting manner, my duett, “Ich wollt’, meine Liebe” having contrived, under some pretext, to get the music transcribed. Ninthly, St. Paul on the ground, his escort in alarm, and a chorus of women singing behind the scenes. Tenth and last, before the curtain was drawn up, “As the hart panteth after the water-brooks” was sung, while I was wondering how they would manage to represent the panting of the hart, andwho was to attempt it. But now comes something more especially for you, Mother. They had dressed S——, who is thought to resemble me, to personate myself; and there he was, sitting in an inspired attitude, writing music, and chewing away at his handkerchief,[36]and by his side a lovely St. Cecilia with a wreath. Now, Mother, I hope you will no longer call me the “reverse of a charlatan;” for my describing all this myself, without the ink turning red for shame, is really a strong measure!
As I am in a boasting mood, I may as well tell you at once that I have proposals from two musical festivals for 1840. And now enough of myself and my braggadocio. I have however been very busy here, and have completed a pianoforte trio, five four-part songs for the open air, and three fugues for the organ, as well as commenced many others. I have practised the organ so steadily, that on my return to Leipzig I purpose giving an organ concert there, and I think that my pedal playing is now very tolerable.
Dear Fanny! I beg that among the six great organ preludes and fugues of Bach, published by Riedl, you will look at the fugue No. 3, in C major. Formerly I did not care much about them, they are in a very simple style; but observe particularly the four last bars, natural and simple as they are, I fell quite in love with them, and played them over at least fifty timesyesterday. How the left hand glides and turns, and how gently it dies away towards the close! It pleased me beyond all measure.
Leipzig, September 14th, 1839.
Dear Fanny,
Wishing to note down a great many things for your benefit, I examined my diaries, but found very little in them, and say to myself, “Hensel will show her and tell all this a hundred times better than I can.”
So only with a view to perform my promise:—
Isola Bella.—Place yourself on the very highest point, and look right and left, before and behind you,—the whole of the island and the whole of the lake are at your feet.
Venice.—Do not forget Casa Pisani, with its Paul Veronese, and the Manfrini Gallery, with its marvellous ‘Cithern Player’ by Giorgione, and a ditto, ‘Entombment,’ by Titian (Hensel laughs at me). Compose something in honour of the ‘Cithern Player;’ I did so. When you see the ‘Assumption of the Virgin,’ think of me. Observe how dark the head of Mary—and indeed her whole figure stands out against the bright sky; the head looks quite brown, and there is an ineffable expressionof enthusiasm and overflowing felicity, that no one could believe without having actually seen it. If you don’t think of me, too, at sight of the golden glory of the sky behind Mary,—then there is an end of all things! Likewise two certain cherubs’ heads, from which an ox might learn what true beauty is; and if the ‘Presentation of Mary,’ and the woman selling eggs underneath, do not please you,—then call me a blockhead! Think of Goethe when you see the Lions in front of the Arsenal: “Stehen zwei altgriechische Löwen,” etc. Sail in a gondola at night, meeting other black gondolas hurrying along. If you don’t then think of all sorts of love stories, and other things which might occur within them while they glide by so quickly,—then am I a dolt!
Florence.—The following are among my notes on the portrait gallery (see if you find them true, and write to me on the subject):—
“Comparison between the head and its production, between the man’s work and his exterior—the artist and his portrait. Titian, vigorous and royal; Domenichino, precise, bright, very astute, and buoyant; Guido, pale, dignified, masterly, keen; Lanfranco, a grotesque mask; Leonello Spada, a good-naturedfanfaronand a reveller; Annibale Carracci, peeping and prying; the two Caraccis, like the members of a guild; Caravaggio, rather commonplace and cat-like; Guercino, handsome and affected, melancholy and dark; Bellini thered-haired, the stern, old-fashioned teacher; Giorgione, chivalrous, fantastic, serene, and clear; Leonardo da Vinci, the lion; in the middle, the fragile, heavenly Raphael, and over him Michael Angelo, ugly, vigorous, malignant; Carlo Dolce, a coxcomb; Gerard Dow, a mere appendage among his kitchen utensils,” etc. etc.
In the large gallery to the left of the tribune, look at a little picture by Fra Bartolommeo, scarcely larger than this sheet of paper, but with two doors, all so neatly and carefully painted and finished. When you enter the gallery, salute first the busts of the Medici, for they were its founders. In the tribune there are some good things. Do not fail to see all the painted churches, which are quite beyond belief,—Maria Novella, St. Annunziata (you must see Andrea del Sarto there; remark also Fra Bartolommeo falling backwards downstairs from terror, because the angel has already been painting on his canvas). Examine also this said angel’s painting in the ‘Annunciation’ of Fra Bartolommeo; it is very fine (Hensel laughs).
To St. Marco, the Academy, etc. etc.
If the site of Brunelli’s statue, near the Duomo, does not please you, I can’t help you. The Duomo itself is not bad. Walk about a great deal.
Milan.—Don’t fail to go to the top of the cathedral, on account of the millions of pinnacles, and the splendid view.
Genoa.—It is pleasant to be in the Villetta Negri at nightfall.
Betwixt Genoa and Florence, see everything. Do not miss visiting the church of St. Francesco in Assisi, on any account whatever. The same with regard to all Perugia.
Drink a flask ofaleaticoin Florence, and add another ofvino santo.
Rome.—Holy Week; be as weary as you please during the whole chanting of the Psalms, it’s no matter, but listen carefully when they intone thelast, “Benedictus Dominus Israel,”—all four voicesunisono fortissimoin D minor,—it sounds very grand. Observe the strange modulations produced by chance, when one unmusical priest after another takes the book and sings; the one finishing in D major, and the other commencing in B flat minor. Above all, see and hear everything in the Sistine Chapel, and write some melodies, or something, from thence to your F. M. B. Greet old Santini. Feast your eyes on the brilliant aspect of the chapel on Palm Sunday, when all the Cardinals are robed and carry palms, and when the procession with the singers arrives. The “Improperia,” on Good Friday, in B flat major, are very fine. Notice when the old Cardinal sings the “Credo,” the first day of Easter, and all the bells ring out, and the ceremony becomes all alive once more, with cannon shots, etc. etc. Drive to theGrotta ferrata, it is really quite too lovely, and all painted by Domenichino. Don’t forget the echo near Cecilia Metella. The tower stands to the left of the road. In the same direction,about fifty yards further, among some old ruined walls and stones, there is the most perfect echo I ever chanced to meet with in my life; it seems as if it never would cease muttering and murmuring. It begins in a slight degree, close behind the tower, but the further you proceed, the more mystical it becomes. You must try to find the right spot. Learn to distinguish between the different orders of monks.
Naples.—When there is a storm at Chiatamone, and the grey sea is foaming, think of me. Don’t fail to live close to the sea. I lived at Santi Combi, Santa Lucia (I think No. 13), it was most lovely there. Be sure you go from Castellamare to Amalfi,overMount St. Angelo. It is the chief highway of all Italy. Proceed from Amalfi to Atrani, and see the church there, and then view the whole glorious landscape from above. Never get overheated. And never fly into a passion. And never be so delighted as to agitate yourself. Be wonderfully haughty and arrogant; all the beauty is there for you only.
Eat as a salad, broccoli with ham, and write to me if it is not capital. So far my good advice. Enough for to-day. Farewell, dearest Fanny, and dear Hensel family all. We think of you daily and hourly, and rejoice in your good fortune and in your enjoyment.
Felix.
Leipzig, September 19th, 1839.
Sir,
Pray accept my thanks for the great proof of confidence you show me, by the purport of your esteemed letter of the 12th of this month. Believe me, I thoroughly appreciate it, and can indeed feel how important to you must be the development and future destiny of a child so beloved and so talented. My sole wish is, like your own, thatthosesteps should be taken, best calculated to reward his assiduity and to cultivate his talents. As an artist, I consider this to be my duty, but, in this case, it would cause me peculiar pleasure from its recalling an early and happy period of my life.
But I should unworthily respond to your confidence, did I not communicate frankly to you the many and great scruples which prevent myimmediatelyaccepting your proposal. In the first place, I am convinced, from repeated experience, that I am totally deficient in the talent requisite for a practical teacher, and for giving regular progressive instruction; whether it be that I take too little pleasure in tuition, or have not sufficient patience for it, I cannot tell, but in short, I do not succeed in it. Occasionally, indeed, young people have stayed with me, but any improvement they have derived was solely from our studying music together, from unreserved intercourse, or casual conversation on varioussubjects, and also from discussions; and none of these things are compatible with actual teaching. Now the question is, whether in such early youth, a consecutive, unremitting, strict course of discipline, be not of more value than all the rest? It also appears to me that the estrangement of your son from the paternal roof just at his age, forms a second, and not less important objection. Where the rudiments of education are not wholly wanting (and the talents of your wife alone are a security against this), then I consider that the vicinity of his parents, and the prosecution of the usual elements of study, the acquirement of languages, and the various branches of scholarship and science, are of more value to the boy than a one-sided, even though more perfect cultivation of his genius. In any event such genius is sure to force its way to the light, and to shape its course accordingly, and in riper years will submit to no other permanent vocation, so that the early acquired treasures of interest, and the hours enjoyed in early youth under the roof of a parent, become doubly dear.
I speak in this strain from my own experience, for I can well remember that in my fifteenth year, there was a question as to my studying with Cherubini in Paris, and I know how grateful I was to my father at the time, and often since, that he at last gave up the idea, and kept me with himself. It would of course be very different if there were no means in Bonn, of obtaining good and solid instruction in thorough-bass and the piano;but this I cannot believe, and whether that instruction be rather better or more intellectual (provided indeed it be not positively objectionable), is of less moment when compared with the advantages of a longer stay in his own home. Further, my life hitherto has been so unsettled, that no summer has passed without my taking considerable journeys, and next year I shall probably be absent from here for five or six months; this change of associations would only be prejudicial to youthful talent. The young man therefore must either remain here alone all summer or travel with me, and neither of these are advisable for him.
I state all these disadvantages, because I am myself so well aware of them, and fully estimate the importance of the subject. If you do not participate in my views on mature consideration, and are still of opinion thatIalone can assist your boy in the attainment of his wish, then I repeat that in any case (irrespective of this) I should esteem it my duty to be useful and serviceable, so far as my ability goes, to a youthful genius, and to contribute to his development by the exercise of my own powers; but even in this event, a personal interview is indispensable, if only for a few hours, in order to arrange everything clearly, and until then I cannot give an unqualified consent.
Were you to bring the lad to me at Easter, I fear I should have already set off on my summer excursion. Indeed, the only period when I am certain to be inLeipzig, is from autumn till Easter. I quite agree with Madame Naumann, that it is most essential to cultivate pianoforte-playing at present as much as possible, and not to fail in studying Cramer’s exercises assiduously and steadily; but along with this daily training on the piano, two hours a week devoted to thorough-bass might be useful, as such a variety would be a pleasant change, rather than an interruption. The latter study indeed ought to be pursued in an easy and almost playful manner, and chiefly the practical part, that of deciphering and playing figured bass; these are the main points, and can be entirely mastered in a short time; but the sooner it is begun, the sooner is it got quit of, and this is always a relief with such dry things. And now once more accept my thanks for the trust you have reposed in me, which I thought I could only adequately respond to by entire sincerity.—I am, your faithful
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, November 30th, 1839.
My dear Friend,
Your letter from Paris delighted me exceedingly, although the proceedings you describe are not very gratifying. The state of matters there must be very curious.I own that I always felt a kind of repugnance towards it, and this impression has not been diminished by all we have recently heard from thence. Nowhere do variety and outward consideration play so prominent a part as there, and what makes the case still worse is, that they not only coquet with orders and decorations, but with artistic inspiration and soul. The very great inward poverty which this betrays, along with the outward glitter of grandeur and worldly importance which suchmisèresassume, is truly revolting to me, even when I merely read of them in a letter. I infinitely prefer our German homeliness and torpor and tobacco-pipes, though, indeed, I can’t say much in their favour since the recent events in Hanover, in which I am deeply interested, though I grieve to say they do not exhibit our Fatherland in a pleasing aspect; so that neither here nor there is life at present very enjoyable: therefore we ought the more heartily to thank God, that within the domain of art there lies a world far removed from all besides; solitary, yet replete with life, where refuge is to be found, and where we can feel that it is well with us.
Chorley seems to have taken great pleasure in our concerts. On what a splendid scale we could have them if a very little money were only forthcoming! but this hateful money is a hindrance and a stumbling-block all over the world, and we do not get forward as we ought. On one side we have the worthy civilians, who think that Leipzig is Paris, and that everything is admirable,and that if the members of the orchestra were not starving it would no longer be Leipzig; and on the other side we have the musicians, or rather they leave us as soon as they possibly can, and I give them letters to you in the hope that they may be thus rescued from their misery.
I have not assisted Pott’s undertaking by any musical contribution. If you could only see the detestable proceedings in Germany at present with regard to monuments, you would have given nothing either. They speculate on great men, in order, through their reputation, to make a name for themselves, and trumpet forth in the newspapers, while with their real trumpets they make very bad music, “as deadening as a foggy breeze.” If Halle for Handel, Salzburg for Mozart, and Bonn for Beethoven, etc., are really desirous to form good orchestras, capable of playing and comprehending thoroughly their works, then I shall be delighted to give them my aid, but not for mere stones, when the orchestra are themselves even more worthless stones, and not for theirconservatoriums, where there is nothing worth conservation. My present hobby is our poor orchestra and its improvement. By dint of incessant running to and fro, writing, and tormenting others, I have at last contrived to scrape together about five hundredthalers, and before I leave this I expect to get twice that sum for them. If the town does this, it can then proceed to erect a monument to Sebastian Bach, in front of the ThomasSchool. But first of all, the money. You see I am a rabid Leipziger. It would touch your feelings, too, if you saw all this close at hand, and could hear how the people strain every nerve to accomplish what is really good.
Has Onslow written anything new? and old Cherubini? That is a matchless fellow! I have got his “Abencerrages,” and cannot sufficiently admire the sparkling fire, the clever original phrases, the extraordinary delicacy and refinement with which the whole is written, or feel sufficiently grateful to the grand old man for it. Besides, it is all so free and bold and spirited.
Leipzig, January 4th, 1840.
This little page shall go to Rome from here,And wish you prettily a good new year.
This little page shall go to Rome from here,And wish you prettily a good new year.
This little page shall go to Rome from here,And wish you prettily a good new year.
You see my letter begins in the true ballad-monger style; if you chance to be in the Coliseum at the moment you receive it, the contrast will be rather grotesque. Whereabouts do you live in Rome? Have you eaten broccoli and ham? orzuppa Inglese? Is the convent of San Giovanni and Paolo still standing? and does the sun shine every morning on your butteredroll? I have just played to Ferdinand Hiller your Caprices in B flat major, G major, E major, and F major, which surprised us both; and though we tried hard to detect the cloven foot in them, we could not do so,—all was unmixed delight. Then I vowed at last to break through my obstinate silence. Pray forgive it! It happened thus:—First came the christening, and with it my mother and Paul. In the meantime the subscription concerts had begun; then my mother left us; then Paul, a fortnight later; then came Hiller to stay with us, intending to remain a week, heard a couple of rehearsals, and decided to remain the whole winter, for the purpose of completing his oratorio of “Jeremiah,” and producing it here in March; then came an abominable cold and catarrh, which for three weeks confined me to bed, or to my room, but always in very bad humour; then came Breitkopf and Härtel, begging to have the manuscript of my second set of four-part songs, which they have now got, and the trio, which they have not yet got; then came the copyist, petitioning for the score of the new Psalm, which was performed most gloriously the day before yesterday, as a commencement to the new year’s concert; then came 116 friends; then came Madame Pleyel, who counts for 216 more, and she played the piano right well; then came Christmas, to which I was forced to contribute fourteen gifts, some musical, some pictorial, some practical, and some juvenile; and now comes the benefit concert of Madlle. Meerti,—so hereyou have anabrégéof myhistoire universellesince my last letter.
But tell me, for Heaven’s sake, what are you doing at Rome? “The finest part of theold holeis its situation,” said General Lepel once; but he is mistaken. There are still greater charms within her walls. What do you say, by the bye, to the drone of thePifferari, whom the painters paint so admirably, and which produce such indescribable sensations in every nose, while sounding through it?—and to the church music in St. Luigi dei Francesi and others? I should like to hear you on that subject. Can you tell me the names of all the Cardinals from a mere glimpse of their hoods or trains? I could do this. When you are with a certainMadameby Titian in the Sciarra Palace, and with two other certainMesdamesalso by him (the one in a state of nature, the other unfortunately not) in the Borghese Palace,[38]or with the ‘Galatea’ or any other Raphael, if you do not then think of me, and wish I were in Rome, I shall assuredly in that case wish you were the Marchesa Muti Papazurri, whose breadth is greater than her height, and that is five feet six inches. I will now give you some advice. Go to Monte Testaccio, and settle yourself comfortably in one of the little inns there; you will feel precisely the same as if you were in Rome. If you have already seen Guido’s ‘Aurora.’ be sure you go to see it again. Mark well the horrible fifths of thePapal singers when they adorn each of their four parts at the same moment with flourishes. On a fine Sunday, go on walking the whole day, till the sun sets, and it becomes cool; then come down from Monte Pincio, or wherever you may be, and have your dinner. Compose a vast deal, for it gets on famously at Rome. Write me soon a long letter. Look out of the windows of any convent near the Lateran, towards the Albano mountains. Count the houses in Frascati in the sunshine; it is far more beautiful there than in all Prussia and Poland too.
Forgive this harebrained letter, for I could not make it better. Farewell, dearest Fanny. May God bless you, and your journey, and your whole year; and continue to love your
Felix.
Leipzig, January 4th, 1840.
Dear Fürst,
You upbraid me extravagantly in the beginning of your welcome letter, but at its close you draw so admirable a moral, that I have only to thank you anew for the whole. You do me injustice in suggesting that my sole reason for wishing to see thescenariumis that I may raise difficulties from the starting-point, and bring the child into the world forthwith in its sickly condition.
It is precisely on opposite grounds that I wish this, in order to obviate subsequent difficulties and organic maladies. If these are, as you declare, born with him, it is best to abstract them from the child, while it is still possible, without injuring every part; if the injury admits of a remedy at all, it can now be cured, without attacking the whole organization.
No longer to speak figuratively, what deters me, and has always hitherto deterred me from the composition of alibrettois neither the verse, nor the individual words, nor the mode of handling (or whatever you call it), but the course of the action, the dramatic essence, the march of events,—in short, thescenarium. If I do not consider this to be good and solid in itself, then my firm conviction is that the music will not be so either, nor the whole satisfy the pretensions that I must make in executing such a work, though they may indeed entirely differ from those which are usually made, and from those of the public. But I have long since given up all idea of conforming to their tastes, simply for this reason, that is impossible; so I must follow the dictates of my own conscience, now as ever.
Planché’s text can never, even with the best will on both sides, become such a work as I want; I am almost disposed to give up my purpose as utterly hopeless. I would rather never compose an opera at all, than one which from the very commencement I considered only indifferent; moreover I could not possibly compose forsuch a one, were you to give me the whole kingdom of Prussia to do so. All this, and the many annoyances certain to occur at the completion of a text, if I should not feel disposed to undertake it, render it my duty to proceed step by step, and rather to move too slowly than too hastily; on this account I have resolved, unless we first agree about thescenarium, never to beguile any poet into undertaking so laborious a work, which may after all prove vain. Thisscenariummay be prolix or brief, detailed or merely sketched,—on these points I do not presume to dictate, and quite as little, whether the opera should be in three, four, or five acts; if it be really good, just as it is written, then eight acts would not be too many for me, nor one too few, and I say the same as to a ballet or no ballet. The only criterion is, whether it harmonizes or not with the musical and other existing feelings of my nature; and I believe that I am able to discern this quite as well from thescenariumas from the finished text, and that is moreover a point which no one can decide save myself personally.
I have thus placed the whole truth before you, and Heaven grant that all these things may not deter you from writing an opera, that you may also entrust it to me for composition, and that I may at length through you see a long-cherished wish fulfilled. I need not tell you how eagerly I shall await your decision.—Yours,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, February 7th, 1840.
Dear Brother,
Every word, alas! that you write about Berlin and the course of things there, corresponds but too well with my own views on the subject. The proceedings there are far from gratifying, and what strikes me as the most hopeless part is, that all its inhabitants are of one accord on the subject, and yet, in spite of this universal feeling, no change to what is good and healthy is ever effected. But where cannot the individual man live and thrive? especially in Germany, where we are all compelled to isolation, and must, from the very first, renounce all idea of working together in unison. Still it has its bright side and its original aspect. When are you coming here again to play billiards with us? I have been living a stirring life all through this winter. Fancy my being obliged to play in public four times last week, and two pieces on each occasion. Last Saturday week, the first Quartett Soirée took place, where pianoforte music was introduced; so I played Mozart’s sonata in A major, with David, and the B flat major trio of Beethoven. On Sunday evening Ernst played four quartetts at Hiller’s; one of them was the E minor of Beethoven, and mine in E flat major. Early on Monday the rehearsal took place, and in the evening the concert, where I accompanied him in his “Elegie,” and inthree songs besides; on the following Thursday, Hiller and I played Mozart’s concerto, written for two pianos, into which we introduced two grandcadenzas, and at the close of the second part of the concert, we played Moscheles’ duett in G major.[39]The Saturday after, I again played with David at the Quartett Soirée, a new rondo of Spohr’s, and wound up with my trio. In addition, we are to have a musical soirée at D——’s, a meeting of the Liedertafel, a ball, etc. etc.; and yet, with all this, every one complains that I persist in living so retired. Latterly I have become quite tired of music, and think I must take to painting once more; but my Swiss sketches are coming to an end, and fain would I return thither to make new ones, but I already see that there is no hope of such a thing this summer. Hiller lately said that I was like those ancient barbarians, who took such delight in the luscious fruits and the warm sun of the South, that they were always longing for them once more; and there really is some truth in this. Would that our orchestra had not so many attractions. Yesterday they played the B flat major symphony of Beethoven famously. In the course of a few days the choruses (now completed) in Hiller’s oratorio are to be rehearsed. I feel as much anxiety on the subject as if they were my own, or even greater.
Last week I had an agreeable occupation, which was that of distributing the five hundred dollars, granted tothe orchestra, amongst its various members; the sum is small and the aid trifling, still I felt great satisfaction in having even accomplished this much. Next year I mean to begin it all over again, and then I hope to do a real service to the musicians; whether they thank me or not, is after all quite a matter of indifference.
Pray send for a little work, which contains the most beautiful and interesting descriptions I have read for a long time. They are Eastern translations by Rückert, and the title is ‘Erbauliches und Beschauliches aus dem Morgenlande.’ If this book does not delight you beyond measure, I will never recommend one to you again. Do look into it often, for it is most extraordinary.—Your
Felix.
Leipzig, March 30th, 1840.
The turmoil of the last few weeks was overpowering. Liszt was here for a fortnight, and caused quite a paroxysm of excitement among us, both in a good and evil sense. I consider him to be in reality an amiable warm-hearted man, and an admirable artist. That he plays with more execution than all the others, does not admit of a doubt; yet Thalberg, with his composure, and within his more restricted sphere, is more perfect, taken as a virtuoso; and this is the standard which must also be applied to Liszt, for his compositions are inferiorto his playing, and, in fact, are only calculated for virtuosos. A fantasia by Thalberg (especially that on the “Donna del Lago”) is an accumulation of the most exquisite and delicate effects, and a continued succession of difficulties and embellishments that excite our astonishment; all is so well devised and so finished, carried out with such security and skill, and pervaded by the most refined taste.
On the other hand, Liszt possesses a degree of velocity and complete independence of finger, and a thoroughly musical feeling, which can scarcely be equalled. In a word, I have heard no performer whose musical perceptions, like those of Liszt, extended to the very tips of his fingers, emanating directly from them. With this power, and his enormous technicality and practice, he must have far surpassed all others, if a man’s own ideas were not after all the chief point, and these, hitherto at least, seem denied to him; so that in this phase of art, most of the great virtuosos equal, and indeed excel him. But that he, along with Thalberg,alonerepresents the highest class of pianists of the present day, is, I think, undeniable. Unhappily the manner in which Liszt has acted towards the public here has not pleased them. The whole misunderstanding is, in fact, as if you were listening to two persons disputing, who are both in the wrong, and whom you would fain interrupt at every word. As for the citizens in general, who are angry at the high prices, and do not wish to see a clever fellow prospertoo much, and grumble accordingly, I don’t in the least care about them; and then the newspaper discussions, explanations, and counter-explanations, criticisms and complaints, and all kinds of things are poured down on us, totally unconnected with music; so that his stay here has caused us almost as much annoyance as pleasure, though the latter was indeed often great beyond measure.
It occurred to me that this unpleasant state of feeling might be most effectually allayed, by people seeing and hearing him in private; so I suddenly determined to give him asoiréein the Gewandhaus, of three hundred and fifty persons, with orchestra, choir, mulled wine, cakes, my “Meeresstille,” a Psalm, a triple concerto by Bach (Liszt, Hiller, and I), choruses from “St. Paul,” fantasia on “Lucia di Lammermoor,” the “Erl King,” the “Devil and his Grandmother,” and goodness knows what else; and all the people were delighted, and played and sang with the utmost enthusiasm, and vowed they had never passed a more capital evening,—so my object was thus happily effected in a most agreeable manner.
I have to-day formed a resolution, in which I heartily rejoice, and that is, never again to take any part as judge of the prizes at a musical competition. Several proposals of this kind were made to me, and I did not know why I should be so annoyed by these, till I clearly saw that it was in fact a display of arrogance on my part, to which I would not myself submit from others, and should therefore carefully avoid; thus setting oneself upas a proficient, and my taste as incontrovertible, and in an idle hour passing in review all the assembled competitors, and criticizing them, and, God knows, possibly being guilty of the most glaring injustice towards them. So I resolved once for all to renounce the office, and feel quite relieved by having done so.
Leipzig, April 8th, 1840.
Sir,
Emboldened by the assurance of your kind feelings in our recent conversation, and by the conviction that you have sincerely at heart the condition of art here, and its further cultivation (of which you have already given so many proofs), permit me to lay before you a question which seems to me of the highest importance to the interest of music.
Would it not be possible to entreat his Majesty the King, to dispose of the sum bequeathed by the late Herr Blümner for the purpose of establishing an institution for art and science (the investment of which is left to the discretion of his Majesty), in favour of the erection and maintenance of a fundamental music academy in Leipzig?
Permit me to make a few observations on the importance of such an institution, and to state why I consider that Leipzig is peculiarly entitled to aspire to such a one, and also what I consider to be the fitting basis for its organization.
For a long period music has been indigenous in this country, and the sense of what is true and genuine, the very phase which must be nearest the heart of every ardent and thoughtful friend to art, has at all times struck its roots deep into this soil. Such universal sympathy does not certainly come by chance, nor is it without influential results on general cultivation; music having thus become an important power, not as a mere passing enjoyment, but as a more elevated and intellectual requirement. Those who feel sincere solicitude about this art, must eagerly wish that its future prospects in this land should rest on the most solid foundation.
The positive, technical, and material tendencies so prevalent at the present day, render the preservation of a genuine sense of art, and its further advancement, of twofold importance, but also of twofold difficulty. A solid basis alone can accomplish this purpose; and as the extension of sound instruction is the best mode of promoting every species of moral improvement, so it is with music also. If we had a good music academy,—embracing all the various branches of this art, and teaching them from one sole point of view, as only the means to a higher end,—then the practical and material tenets, which, alas! can number even among our artists many influential adherents, might, no doubt, yet be effectually checked.
Mere private instruction, which once bore much good fruit for the world at large, on many accounts now nolonger suffices. Formerly, students of various instruments were to be found in every class of society, whereas now this amateurship is gradually passing away, or is chiefly confined to one instrument—the piano.
Scholars desirous of enjoying further instruction, almost invariably consist of those who propose devoting themselves to this branch of art, and who rarely possess the means of paying for private lessons. The most admirable talent is indeed often to be found amongst this class; but, on the other hand, teachers are seldom placed in such fortunate circumstances as to be able to devote their time, without remuneration, to the training of even the finest genius; thus both sides endure privation; the former being unable to obtain the wished-for instruction, and the latter losing the opportunity of implanting, and practically enforcing, their own knowledge. A public institution would, at this moment, be of the most vital importance to teachers as well as to pupils; and the latter would thus acquire the means of improving capabilities which otherwise must often remain undeveloped and wasted; while, for the teachers of music, such a standard of combined action fromonepoint of view, and for the attainment ofonepurpose, would also be advantageous, as the best remedy against lukewarmness and isolation, the unfruitfulness of which, in these days, is but too apt to exercise a ruinous influence on the mind.
In Leipzig the need of a school for music, in whichArt may be pursued with conscientious study and an earnest mind, is deeply felt; and for various reasons Leipzig seems peculiarly suited for it. The university, already a central locality for intellectual aspiring young men, and the school of knowledge, would, in many relations, connect itself with that of music. In most of the other large towns of Germany public amusements dissipate the mind, and exercise an injurious influence over the young; here, however, most of these amusements are more or less connected with music, or consist wholly of it; thus there are very few public recreations except those allied to music; so this institution would benefit both the cause and the individual; moreover, for that especial branch of art which must always remain the chief basis of musical studies—the more elevated class of instrumental and sacred compositions—Leipzig, by its very numerous concerts and oratorios, possesses the means of cultivating the taste of young artists to an extent that few other German cities can offer.
Through the lively sympathy with which the principal works of the great masters for the last fifty years have been received and acknowledged here (often for the first time in Germany), and by the careful attention with which these works have been invariably executed, Leipzig has assumed a high position among the musical cities of our Fatherland. Lastly, in support of this petition I may add that Herr Hofkriegsrath Blümner, who cherished so great a love for poetry and the poetical inevery art, always devoted special attention to the state of music here, and indeed took an active charge in the direction of the concerts, in which he was warmly interested; so that such an apportionment of his bequest, would undoubtedly be quite in accordance with the artistic feelings of the testator.
While other establishments of public utility are constantly encouraged, and some even richly endowed, the music here has never received the smallest aid from any quarter. The musical institution in the capital being supported by Government, is it not then peculiarly desirable that this city should receive the sum bequeathed by one of its inhabitants, where such a boon would be received with peculiar gratitude on every side. On all these grounds, may his Majesty then be graciously disposed not to refuse the fulfilment of a wish so warmly cherished, and thus impart a new stimulus and a fresh impulse to art. It would give an impetus to musical life here, the effects of which would speedily and enduringly be disseminated, with the best influence.
Allow me to enclose in this envelope some general outlines for the arrangement of such a musical academy, and receive the assurance of the distinguished esteem, with which I have the honour to remain, your devoted servant,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, August 10th, 1840.
On Thursday I gave an organ concert here in the Thomas Church, from the proceeds of which old Sebastian Bach is to have a monument erected to his memory in front of the Thomas School. I gave itsolissimo, and played nine pieces, winding up with an extempore fantasia. This was the whole programme. Although my expenses were considerable, I had a clear gain of three hundred dollars. I mean to try this again in the autumn or spring, and then a very handsome memorial may be put up.[40]I practised hard for eight days previously, till I could really scarcely stand upright, and nothing was heard all day long in my street but organ passages!
Leipzig, October 24th, 1840.
Dear Fanny,
I make use of my first morning’s leisure since my return from England, to thank you for your most admirable and charming letter, which welcomed me on my return here. When I first saw it lying, and broke theseal, I had somehow a kind of presentiment that it might contain some bad news—(I mean, something momentous). I don’t know how this was, but the very first lines made me see it in a very different light, and I read on and on with the greatest delight. What a pleasure it is to receive such a letter, with such a flavour of life and joy, and all that is good! The only tone in a minor key, is that you do not expect to like Berlin much after Rome; but this I consider a very transitory feeling; after a long sojourn in Italy where could any one be contented? There, all is so glowing! and our dear German home life, which I do so heartily love, has this in common with all that is German and dear, that it is neither splendid nor brilliant, but its stillness and repose only the more surely fascinate the heart. After every absence I felt just the same when the joy of the first days of reunion were past; I missed the variety and the excitement of travelling so much, that home seemed sadly monotonous, and I discovered all sorts of deficiencies, whereas during my journey all was perfect, and all was good. The same feelings have often recurred to me recently at the Leipzig Liedertafel, and at the innumerable demands and intrusions, etc. etc.; but this did not last, and was certainly only a fallacy. All that is good, and that we like in our travels, is, in fact, our wonted property at home, only we there exact a still larger portion. If we could only preserve through life the fresh, contented, and loftytone of feeling which, for the first few days on returning from a journey, leads us to look at every object with such satisfaction, and on the journey makes us rise superior to all annoyances; if we could only remain inwardly in this buoyant travelling spirit, while continuing to live in the quiet of home,—we should indeed be vastly perfect! Instead of this, last night, at the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Liedertafel, I was as angry as if I had been a young boy. They sang so false, and talked even more falsely; and when it became peculiarly tiresome, it was in the name of “our German Fatherland,” or “in the good old German fashion.” Yet, when I came back from England I had formed such a strong resolution never to discompose myself about anything, and to remain entirely neutral![41]I was eight days in London, and the same in Birmingham, and to me the period passed like a troubled dream; but nothing could be more gratifying than meeting with so many friends quite unchanged. Although I could only see them for so short a time, yet the glimpseinto so friendly an existence, of which we hear nothing for years, but which remains still linked with our own, and will ever continue to be so, causes most pleasurable sensations.
Of course I was constantly with Klingemann and Moscheles, and with the Alexanders also, where, in the most elegantrococodrawing-rooms, among all the newest and most fashionable objects, I found my father’s portrait, painted by Hensel, in its old favourite place, and standing on its own little table; and I was with the Horsleys also, and in many other houses where I felt happy and at home; when I recall my excessive uneasiness at the prospect of the journey, and how we paced up and down here together and discussed it, making each other, in fact, only mutually more nervous, and yet all is now so happily over, and I so happily returned to my family,—I ought scarcely to do anything all day long but rejoice and be thankful,—instead of which I fly into a passion with the Liedertafel, and you do the same with the Art Exhibition!
You ask me whether we are to have peace or war? How have I got such a fine reputation as a newsmonger? Not that I do not deserve it, for I maintain through thick and thin that we shall have peace, but combined with much warlike agitation; though when apoliticusby profession like Paul is in the family, he must be applied to. He may say what he likes, but no war shall we have.
Though, when I think of yesterday’s Liedertafel, I almost wish we had!
Pray write again soon, my very dear Sister, and a long letter.—Your
Felix.