musical notation
and the fugue at the end of the same book. I suspect it will puzzle me, and yet I think I am right. I have an idea thatthisvery prelude will be peculiarly acceptableto the English, and you can play both prelude and fuguepianoandpianissimo, and also bring out the full power of the organ. Faith! I can tell you it is no stupid composition.
I have lately determined to have a new oratorio ready for the next Düsseldorf Musical Festival; two years are yet to come before then, but I must stick to my work. I will write about the text as soon as I have decided on the subject. I hear nothing of Holtei and his opera libretto, and so I must begin a second oratorio, much as I should have liked to write an opera just at this moment. I sadly want a true thorough-going man for many fine projects; whether he will appear, or whether I am mistaken, I know not, but hitherto I have never been able to discover him.
I occupy myself continually here in drawing figures, but I don’t succeed very well. From want of practice this winter, I have forgotten what I knew much better last summer, when Schadow gave me every day a short drawing lesson at Scheveling, and taught me to sketch peasants, soldiers, old apple-women, and street boys. Yesterday, however, I made a drawing of Bishop Hatto, at the moment of being eaten up by the mice,—a splendid subject for all beginners. In this letter, music, the Rheingau, and gossip go hand-in-hand. Forgive this, dear Mother. It is the same in real life.
Bingen-a.-R., July 14th, 1837.
Dear Schubring,
I wish to ask your advice in a matter which is of importance to me, and I feel it will therefore not be indifferent to you either, having received so many proofs to the contrary from you. It concerns the selection of a subject of an oratorio, which I intend to begin next winter. I am most anxious to have your counsels, as the best suggestions and contributions for the text of my “St. Paul” came from you.
Many very apparent reasons are in favour of choosing St. Peter as the subject,—I mean its being intended for the Düsseldorf Musical Festival at Whitsuntide, and the prominent position the feast of Whitsunday would occupy in this subject. In addition to these grounds, I may add my wish (in connection with a greater plan for a later oratorio) to bring the two chief apostles and pillars of the Christian Church, side by side in oratorios,—in short, that I should have a “St. Peter” as well as a “St. Paul.” I need not tell you that there are sufficient internal grounds to make me prize the subject, and far above all else stands the outpouring of the Holy Ghost, which must form the central point, or chief object. The question therefore is (and this you can decide far better than I can, because you possess the knowledge in which I am deficient, to guide you)whether the place that Peter assumesin the Bible, divested of the dignity which he enjoys in the Catholic or Protestant Churches, as a martyr, or the first Pope, etc. etc.,—whetherwhat is said of him in the Bibleis alone and in itself sufficiently important to form the basis of asymbolicaloratorio. For, according to my feeling, the subject must not be treated historically, however indispensable this was in the case of “St. Paul.” In historic handling, Christ must appear in the earlier part of St. Peter’s career, and, where He appears, St. Peter could not lay claim to the chief interest. I think, therefore, it must be symbolical; though all the historical points might probably be introduced,—the betrayal and repentance, the keys of heaven given him by Christ, his preaching at Pentecost,—not in an historical, but prophetic light, if I may so express myself, in close connection.
My question then is, whether you think this possible, or at least so far possible, that it may become an important and personal object for every member of the community?—also, whether it is your opinion, that even if actually feasible, it should be carried out entirely by means of Scriptural passages, and what particular parts of the Bible you would especially recommend for the purpose? Lastly, if in this event you will hereafter, as you previously did, make a selection of certain passages out of the Bible, and send them to me?
The chief thing, however, is the first point, for I amstill in the dark about it; in fact, about the possibility of the whole undertaking: write to me as soon as you can on the subject. In thinking it over, my first idea was that the subject must be divided into two parts: the first, from the moment of forsaking the fishermen’s nets down to the “Tu es Petrus,” with which it must close: the second to consist of the Feast of Pentecost only; from the misery after the death of Christ and repentance of Peter, to the outpouring of the Holy Ghost.[29]
Forgive me for assailing you so suddenly with all this. During the few months since we have met, I cannot tell you what a great and happy change has taken place in me.[30]I hope you will come and stay with us next winter, and pass some days here; then you will in a short time see for yourself, what even at any length I really could not describe. I intend to be in Leipzig again, the end of September, and till then, shall remain principally here on the Rhine, or at Frankfort. Pray answer me soon, if only by a few lines.—Your
F. M. B.
Leipzig, October 4th, 1837.
Dearest Mother,
It ought to have been my first occupation to write to you as soon after the busy time of the last few weeks as I had some leisure, to thank you for so many loving letters. I wished also to let you know of our safe arrival here, and yet two days have elapsed without the possibility of doing so. I seize the early morning for this purpose, or people will again come, one succeeding another till the post hour is passed, which happened yesterday and the day before. I cannot at this time attempt to describe the Birmingham Musical Festival; it would require many sheets to do so, and whole evenings when we are once more together even cursorily to mention all the remarkable things crowded into those days.[31]One thing, however, I must tell you, because I know it will give you pleasure, which is, that I never had such brilliant success, and can never have any more unequivocal than at this festival. The applause and shouts at the least glimpse of me were incessant, and sometimes really made me laugh; for instance, they prevented my being able for long to sit down to the instrument to play a pianoforte concerto; and what is better than all this applause, and a sure proof of my success, were the offersmade to me on all sides, and of a very different tenor this time from what they ever were before.
I may well say that I now see, beyond doubt, that all this is only bestowed on me because in the course of my work, I do not in the least concern myself as to what people wish, and praise and pay for, but solely as to what I consider good, so I shall now less than ever allow myself to be turned aside from my own path. I therefore peculiarly rejoice in my success, and I feel more confident than ever, that not the smallest effort shall be made by me to ensure success, nor indeed ever has been made. I had besides a very striking proof of the value of all such things, in the manner in which Neukomm was on this occasion received in Birmingham. You know how highly they honoured, and really overvalued him formerly, and how much all his works were prized and sought after here, so that the musicians used to call him the king ofBrummagem;[32]whereas on this occasion they neglected him shamefully, giving only one short composition of his the first morning (the worst of all), and the public receiving him without the slightest attention; this is really disgraceful in those men who, three years ago, knew nothing better or higher than Neukomm’s music. The only thing he can be reproached with is, that three years since he wrote an oratorio for the Musical Festival, where effect was chiefly studied. The huge organ, the choruses, the soloinstruments, all were introduced on purpose to please the audience, and people soon find this out, and it never answers; but that they should treat him with such ingratitude in return, is a fresh proof of how little their favour is to be relied on, and what the fruits of it are when sought after.
I found him, as usual, most amiable and as kind as ever, and may well take example from him in a hundred things. I never met with any one who combined greater integrity, with calmness and refinement, and he is indeed a steady, true friend.
I send you a completeprogrammeof the Musical Festival. Imagine such a mass of music! and besides this prodigious pile, the various acquaintances who came flocking thither at that time; a man must be as cold-blooded as a fish to stand all this. Immediately after I had played the last chord on the splendid organ, I hurried off to the Liverpool mail, and travelled six days and five nights in succession, till I arrived in Frankfort to rejoin my family. The mail goes to London in ten hours and a half, exactly the same distance as between this and Berlin; I calculated that on my journey, and envied the English on this account. I arrived in London towards midnight, where I was received by Klingemann, and we went together to the Committee of the Sacred Harmonic Society, who formally presented to me a large solid silver box, with an inscription. At half-past twelve o’clock I was again in the mail, and at Dover nextmorning at nine, when there was no time even for breakfast, as I was obliged to go off directly to the small boat which conveyed us to the steamboat, for being low water it could not remain in the harbour, so I was already sea-sick when I reached the ship, had a miserable passage, and instead of arriving at Calais in three hours, we were five hours before landing at Boulogne, and just so much further from Frankfort. I went to the Hôtel Meurice, where I made myself as comfortable as I could, and set off at nine at night in the diligence to Lille. This is the moment (however furious Dirichlet may be) to impress on you, that French and Belgian diligences, with their glass windows, on a pavedchaussée, with their three clumsy horses in front, whose tails are tied up, and who do not go forwards but round and round, are the most utterly detestable means of being expedited in the whole world, and that a GermanSchnellpostis a hundred times pleasanter, quicker, and better than these utterly detestable, etc.,vide supra. The September days were being celebrated all over Belgium, and trees of liberty erected in the squares in front of the town-halls. I arrived at Cologne at ten o’clock in the morning; a steamboat was to sail at eleven, and to go on through the night, so I took my place in it, rejoicing to be able to lie down full length on this the fifth night, and free from the rattle of the pavement. I fell asleep about nine, and did not wake till two in the morning, when I perceived that the steam-boatwas not moving, and in answer to my questions I was told, that the fog was so thick (as on the previous day) that it would be impossible to set off again at all events before six o’clock the same evening, and we should not arrive in Mayence till six at night. The steamer was lying-to quite close to Horchheim, so I hired two sailors to go with me to carry my things; I showed them the old familiar footpath by the side of the Rhine, got to Coblenz at three o’clock in the morning, took post-horses, and was at Frankfort on Wednesday afternoon at half-past three o’clock. I found them all well, and we have since made out our journey famously, from Thursday afternoon till Sunday at two o’clock, when we arrived here.
The first subscription concert began at six o’clock the same evening. I directed the “Jubilee” overture and the C minor symphony, but the trombones and drums were so noisy, that, at the end of the concert, I own I felt rathercaput. These were fourteen of the most crowded days any one could imagine; but as I lived so entirely for enjoyment and pleasure the whole of last summer, I am glad, just before my return here, to have had such a busy time, and one so important for my vocation. It is quite too lovely here, and every hour of my new domestic life is like a festival; whereas in England, notwithstanding all its honours and pleasures, I had not one single moment of real heartfelt enjoyment; but now every day brings only a succession of joy and happiness, andI once more know what it is to prize life. Have I not entered into as many minute details about myself, as if I were some sickly potentate, dear Mother?—Your
Felix.
Leipzig, October 29th, 1837.
Dear Brother,
First of all, my most cordial congratulations on the day when this letter will reach you; may you pass it happily, and may it prove a good harbinger of the coming year. You mention in your letter of yesterday, that your quiet, settled and untroubled position sometimes makes you almost anxious and uneasy; but I cannot think you right in this feeling; as little as if you were to complain of the very opposite extreme. Why should it not be sufficient for a man to know how to secure and to enjoy his happiness? I cannot believe that it is at all indispensable first to earn it by trials or misfortunes; in my opinion, heartfelt grateful acknowledgment is the best Polycrates’ ring; and truly in these days it is a difficult problem to acknowledge, and to enjoy good fortune, and other blessings, in such a manner as to share them with others, thus rendering them cheerful and glad also, and showing too that the difference is equally great between this and idle arrogance. It is singular that in my position, I might complain of the very reverseof what troubles you; the more I find what are termed encouragement and recognition in my vocation, the more restless and unsettled does it become in my hands, and I cannot deny that I often long for that rest of which you complain. So few traces remain of performances and musical festivals, and all that is personal; the people indeed shout and applaud, but that quickly passes away, without leaving a vestige behind, and yet it absorbs as much of one’s life and strength asbetterthings, or perhaps even more; and the evil of this is, that it is impracticable to come half out, when you are once in; you must either go on the whole way, or not at all. I dare not even attempt to withdraw, or the cause which I have undertaken will suffer, and yet I would gladly see that it was not merelymycause, but considered a good and universal one. But this is the very point where people are wanting to pursue the same path—not an approving public (for that is a matter of indifference), but fellow-workers (and they are indispensable). So inthissense I long for a less busy life, in order to be able to devote myself to my peculiar province—composition of music, and to leave the execution of it to others. It seems, however, that this is not to be, and I should be ungrateful were I dissatisfied with my life as it is.
Fanny will probably give you to-morrow the parts of my new quartett from me. Whether it will please you or not is uncertain; but think of me when you play itand come to any passage which is peculiarly in my style. How gladly would I have given you something better and prettier, in honour of your birthday, but I did not know what to send.
Yesterday evening my C minor quartett was played in public by David, and had great success. They were made to play the scherzo twice, and the adagio pleased the audience best of all, which caused me very great astonishment. In a few days I mean to begin a new quartett, which may please me better. I also intend soon to compose a sonata for violoncello and piano for you,—by my beard, I will!
And now farewell; till our happy, happy meeting in February.—Your
Felix.
Leipzig, December 10th, 1837.
My dear Ferdinand,
You have written to me in spite of my want of punctuality last month, for which I am heartily grateful, though I really could scarcely have hoped it. The arrangement of a new house, taking possession of it, the numerous concerts and affairs, in short, all the various hindrances of whatever nature, that a steady-going civilian, like myself, can venture to enumerate to a joyous, lively Italian like you,—my installation as master andtenant of the mansion, music director of the subscription concerts,—all these things prevented my being a punctual correspondent last month. But for that very reason I wished to entreat of you, and now do so right heartily, even amid the vast difference in our position, and the objects that surround us, let us steadily adhere to our promise to write monthly letters. I think it would be a source of great interest and benefit to both, to hear from each other now, when we must mutually appear so desperately outlandish—though for this very reason nearer than ever. I at least, when I think of Milan, and Liszt, and Rossini, have a singular feeling in knowing that you are in the midst of them all, and probably you feel the same, when, in the plains of Lombardy, you think of Leipzig and of me. But next time you must really write me a long minute letter, full of details; you do not know how much they would interest me,—you must tell me where you are living, and what you are writing, and all about Liszt, and Pixis, and Rossini; about the white Duomo and the Corso. I do dearly love that bright land, and when you write to me from thence, I love it more than ever. You are not to halve your sheet of paper. Above all, tell me if you amuse yourself there as thoroughly and divinely as I did? Do so, I beg, and inhale the air with the same delight, and idle away your days as deliberately as I did; but why say all this? you are sure to do so at all events. But pray do write to me about it at full length. Do you wish to know whetherI like this as much as ever? When I am living as a married man in a pretty, new, comfortable house, with a fine view over gardens and fields, and the towers of the city, and feel so comfortable and happy, so glad and so peaceful, as I have never done since I quitted the parental roof; when, in addition to this, I have good means, and goodwill on every side, I ask you how I can be otherwise than happy? If I am to hold any situation, this is the best; but there are many days when I think that to have no fixed situation, would be best after all. Directing so perpetually during two such months, takes more out of me than the two years when I was composing all day long. I can scarcely ever compose here in winter, and when I ask myself after the greatest excitement, what has really occurred, it is in fact scarcely worth naming; at least it does not interest me much whether the acknowledged good works are given a degree oftener, or a degree better, or not. The only things that interest me are new compositions, and of these there is a great lack; often therefore I feel as if I should like to retire altogether, and not conduct any longer, but only write; and yet such a regular musical life, and the duty of directing it, has a certain charm too. What care you for this in Milan? and still I must write it if you wish to know how I like my position here. I felt just the same in Birmingham; I never made such a decided effect with my music as there, and never saw the public so much, or so exclusively occupied with myself individually,and yet there is even in this, something—what shall I call it?—fleeting and evanescent, which I find irksome and depressing, rather than cheering. Would that there had not been an instance of the exact reverse of all these enthusiastic praises, with regard to Neukomm, whom they on this occasion criticized so disdainfully, and received with as much coldness and neglect, in fact set aside as completely, as three years ago they extolled him to the skies, when they placed him above all other composers, and applauded him at every step. Of what value then is their favour? You will, no doubt, say that Neukomm’s music is not worth much,—there we quite agree; but those who were formerly enchanted with it, and now give themselves such airs, don’t know this. The whole thing made me feel most indignant, while Neukomm’s calm and perfectly indifferent demeanour, appeared to me the more admirable and dignified, when contrasted with the others, and I like him better than ever since this manly conduct.
Leipzig, January 8th, 1838.
I did not receive your letter of the 25th of October till two days ago, and at the same time a splendid copy of your “Études.” I was afraid you had given up thecompletion of the work, as it was so long since I had heard anything of it; I was therefore the more agreeably surprised by its arrival. You wish me to give you an opinion about the compositions themselves; but you are well aware how superfluous I consider all such criticisms, whether of my own or of others; to go on working I consider the best and only thing to do, and when friends urge this after every fresh work, their doing so in itself contains a kind of verdict. I believe that no man ever yet succeeded in controlling and commanding the minds of others byonework; a succession of works all aiming at one point can alone do it. Such then is your function, and the duty which God has imposed on you, by the talents he has given you. Fulfil it then; I believe that the happiness of life lies entirely on this, and cannot be attained without it, and the omission would be a very great sin.
Thus the wish that you may go forward on your path, and pursue your labours, is the sole criticism I have at present to send you of your work.
We have already discussed most of the details; there are no faults, and you are master of your tools; but continue to use them more and more, as I have already said.
No doubt, you can almost imagine you hear me saying all this, and at last I shall appear to you in the light of abasso ostinato, who is perpetually growling, and ends by being tiresome beyond measure; for instead of expressingmy thanks, I begin the old song all over again, but still I am not deficient in gratitude either, and I wish to tell you so again and again in my very best manner. Write to me soon and at length (or rather by music, which says all things); you know what sincere pleasure every letter of yours causes me. Farewell, and once more accept my thanks for the gratification you have bestowed on me, and doubtless on many others by your first work.—I am, with esteem, yours,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, January 18th, 1838.
I am deeply grateful for the invitation contained in your letter of the 8th of January. Your kind remembrance is not less prized by me than the prospect of again attending such a pleasant festival, and deriving from it as much enjoyment as that for which I have already to thank the Rhenish Musical Festivals. I therefore accept your invitation with sincere delight, if God grants health to me and mine, and if we can mutually agree on the selection of the music to the full satisfaction of both parties. The more successful the previous Cologne festival was with regard to the arrangement ofthe pieces performed, especially in Handel’s work with the organ, the more important it seems to me to have at leastonepiece in the programme by which this year’s festival may be distinguished from others, and by means of which progress may, as far as possible, be manifested. For this purpose I consider it absolutely necessary to have the name of Sebastian Bach in the programme, if only for one short piece; for it is certainly high time that at these festivals, on which the name of Handel has shed such lustre, another immortal master, who is in no one point inferior to any master, and in many points superior to all, should no longer be forgotten. The same scruples which exist in opposition to this, must also have existed in former years with regard to the works of Handel, and you are all grateful to those who, disregarding these obstacles, revealed to you such treasures of sublimity and elevation. Earn for yourself, then, similar thanks from the Rhenish friends of music by making a beginning which is indeed difficult (for this I do not deny), and must be proceeded with cautiously, but which will certainly be attended with the best results, and universally imitated by others. When anything of Bach’s has been once performed, it will be easy to discover that it is beautiful, and to perform it again; but the difficulty is the beginning. The proposal that I wish to make to you on this subject is, to introduce into this Musical Festival a short Psalm of Bach’s (about twenty minutes or half an hour in length),and if you are afraid of doing this on the second day, from the dread of scaring away the public, whom this learned name might alarm, then do so on the first day, and give in addition a rather shorter oratorio of Handel’s. It is pretty certain that no fewer people will come to hear Handel, for those who do not fear the one will be equally disposed to like the other, and there are still three or four totally unknown and truly admirable oratorios of his, which would not occupy more than an hour and a half, or scarcely two hours at most, and would be a welcome novelty to all lovers of music. I became first acquainted with these works by the splendid gift of the previous committee,[33]and I shall be very glad if you can derive any benefit from these volumes for this year’s festival. With regard to the second day, I may first inquire whether you intend to apply to Cherubini for his grand “Requiem;” it must be translated, and is entirely for men’s voices, but as it will only last an hour, or even less, that would not much matter, and according to the universal verdict it is a splendid work. At present, however, the chief object seems to me to be the first point in this letter, and I therefore beg you will arrange about it as soon as possible.
Leipzig, February, 1838.
... In our concerts we are playing a great deal of what is called historical music, so in the last but one we had the whole of Bach’ssuitein D major, some of Handel and Gluck, etc. etc., and a violin concerto of Viotti’s; in the last of all, Haydn, Righini, Naumann, etc.; and in conclusion Haydn’s “Farewell Symphony,” in which, to the great delight of the public, the musicians literally blew out their lights, and went away in succession till the violinists at the first desk alone remained, and finished in F sharp major. It is a curious, melancholy little piece. We previously played Haydn’s trio in C major, when all the people were filled with amazement that anything so beautiful should exist, and yet it was very long ago published by Breitkopf and Härtel. The next time we have Mozart, whose C minor concerto I am to play, and we are also to have a quartett of his for the first time from his unfinished opera, “Zaïde.” Then comes Beethoven, and two concerts remain for every possible kind of modern composition, to make up the full number of twenty.
Yesterday evening we thought much of you. At a late hour, when I had finished writing, I read aloud ‘Nausikaa’ to Cécile, in Voss’s translation, repeating to her at the end of every ten verses the profound philological remarks which you made when we used to readit together during our Greek lesson, and which now recurred to me in hundreds. Moreover, this poem is really irresistible when it becomes sentimental. I always felt an inclination to set it to music, of course not for the theatre, only as an epic, and this whole day I feel renewed pleasure in the idea; but is anything at this moment to be done with German poets? Last week four operalibrettiwere sent to me, each one more ridiculous than the other; the only result is to make enemies for myself. I therefore write instrumental music, and long for the unknown poet, who perhaps lives close to me or at Timbuctoo,—who knows?...
Leipzig, April 2nd, 1838.
... This evening Madame Botgorscheck’s concert takes place,—an excellent contralto singer, who persecuted me so much to play, that I agreed to do so, and it did not occur to me till afterwards that I had nothing either short or suitable to play, so I resolved to compose a rondo, not one single note of which was written the day before yesterday, but which I am to perform this evening with the whole orchestra, and rehearsed this morning.[34]It sounds very gay; but how I shall play it the gods alone know,—indeed hardly they, forin one passage I have marked a pause of fifteen bars in the accompaniment, and have not as yet the most remote idea what I am to introduce during this time. Any one, however, who plays thusen grosas I do, can get through a good deal....
Berlin, July 10th, 1838.
In recommencing our correspondence, I must first of all thank you for the great friendliness you showed towards me in Cologne. It is the first time that any publisher ever assured me of his satisfaction at the success of my compositions; this occurrence would in itself have been a source of lively gratification to me, but it is much enhanced by the kind and flattering manner in which you manifest your satisfaction, and for which I shall ever feel indebted to you. From the time of your first letter about “St. Paul,” in which you expressed a wish to have it for your house, when I had not yet thought of publication at all, much less of success,—also during the period of its being printed, with its manifold alterations and interpolations, up to the present moment,—you have been cordial and complaisant towards me to a degree which, as I already said, I never before met with, and for which I cordially thank you.
Would it not be well worth while for any publisher in Germany to publish just now some of Handel’s principaloratorios from theoriginalscores? This ought to be done by subscription, which would, I think, be successful, as not one of these scores exists with us. I thought of composing the organ parts for this purpose; they must, however, appear in small notes in the score, or in notes of another colour, so that, first, those who wished it could have Handel pure; second, my organ parts in addition if required, and where there was an organ; and third, in asupplement, the organ part arranged for clarionets, bassoons, and other wind instruments of the modern orchestra, when no organ can be had. Such a score would be useful to all institutes for oratorio music, and we should at last have the true Handel in Germany, not one first dipped in the waters of the Moselle and thoroughly diluted. I was assured in England, that a very considerable number of subscribers to such a score might be procured there. What do you think of this? You have published the pianoforte editions of these oratorios,—perhaps a selection might be made from some of them. Of course I am anxious to have your really candid and sincere opinion of this proposal, which I only mention to you, because it has often suggested itself to me, and recurs to me at this moment.—I am, with sincere esteem, your obedient
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Berlin, July 18th, 1838.
... The whole condition of music here is connected with the sand, with the situation, and with official life, so that though you may have great satisfaction in individuals, it is not easy to be on terms of intimacy with any one. Gluck’s operas are indeed most charming. Is it not remarkable that they always attract a full house, and that the public applaud, and are amused, and shout? And that this should be the only place in the world where such a thing seems possible? And that on the next evening the “Postillon” should draw an equally crowded house? And that in Bavaria it is forbidden to have music in any church, either Catholic or Protestant, because it is supposed to desecrate them? And that chorales seem to have become indispensable in the theatre? The chief thing, however, is to have novelty, and plenty of good and fine compositions in the world; thence it is that I am so eagerly expecting your overture and your opera.
You probably heard that I was at Cologne during the Musical Festival: all went off well. The organ had a fine effect with Handel, and still more so with Sebastian Bach (in a newly-discovered composition of his, which you have not yet seen, with a stately double chorus); but even there, to my mind at least, new and untried works were wanting to excite interest; I should likeso much to have something doubtful, to furnish both the public and myself with an opportunity of giving an opinion. We all know beforehand what we are to think of Beethoven, Bach, and Handel. This ought to be so, but let us have other things besides. You are quite right in saying that it is better in Italy, where the people insist every year on having new music, and every year a fresh criticism—if only the music and likewise the criticisms, were a shade better! I hear you growl and say, what is better? Well then, more according to my taste, if you will. To be sure, my taste is peculiar, such a possibility sometimes suggests itself to me; but I must make use of it as it is, in which case I can contrive to swallow as little, as the stork out of the flat dish....
Berlin, July 30th, 1838.
Dear David,
Many thanks for your letter, which gave me great pleasure. Since I came here I have been constantly thinking how really delightful it is that we are to meet and live together, instead of your being in one place and I in another, following our avocations without hearing much of each other, which is, no doubt, the case with many good fellows in our dear yet rather aggravating Fatherland; but on reflecting further, I discoveredthat there are not many musicians who, like yourself, pursue steadily the broad straight road in art, or in whose active course I could feel the same intense delight that I do in yours. Such things are seldom said in conversation, therefore let me write to-day, how much your rapid and welcome development during the last few years has surprised and rejoiced me; it is often grievous to me to see so many with the noblest aspirations, but inferior talents, and others with great talents yet low tendencies; so that to see true genius, combined with right good will, is doubly cheering. People of the former class swarm here; almost all the young musicians who visit me may, with few exceptions, be included in that number. They praise and prize Gluck and Handel, and all that is good, and talk about them perpetually, and yet what they do is an utter failure, and so very tedious. Of the second class there are examples everywhere. As I said, therefore, the very thought of your character rejoices me, and may Heaven permit us to succeed more and more in candidly expressing our wishes and our inmost thoughts, and in holding fast all that is dear and sacred in art, so that it shall not perish!...
No doubt, you are preparing many new things for next winter, and I rejoice heartily in the idea of hearing them. I have just finished my third quartett in D major, and like it much. May it only please you as well!—I almost think it will, for it is more spirited, andseems to me likely to be more grateful to the players than the others. I intend in a few days to begin to write out my symphony, and to complete it in a short time, probably while I am still here. I should also like to write a violin concerto for you next winter. One in E minor runs in my head, the beginning of which gives me no peace. My symphony shall certainly be as good as I can make it, but whether it will be popular and played on the barrel-organs, I cannot tell. I feel that in every fresh piece I succeed better in learning to write exactly what is in my heart, and after all, that is the only right rule I know. If I am not adapted for popularity, I will not try to acquire it, nor seek after it; and if you think this wrong, then I ought rather to say Icannotseek after it, for really Icannot, but would not if I could. What proceeds from within, makes me glad in its outward workings also, and therefore it would be very gratifying to me were I able to fulfil the wish you and my friends express; but I can do nothing towards it or about it. So much in my path has fallen to my share without my having even once thought of it, and without any effort on my part, that perhaps it may be the case with this also; if not, I shall not grumble on the subject, but console myself by knowing that I did what I could, according to my best powers and my best judgment. I haveyoursympathy, andyourdelight in my works, and also that of some valued friends. More could scarcely be desired. A thousand thanks, then, foryour kind expressions and for all your friendship towards me.—Your
Felix M. B.
Berlin, August 1st, 1838.
Dear Schleinitz,
... What you write me about your increased business rejoices me much. You know how often we have talked over the subject, but I cannot share your sentiment, that any one profession is preferable to another. I always think that whatever an intelligent man gives his heart to, and really understands, must become a noble vocation; and I only personally dislike those in whom there is nothing personal, and in whom all individuality disappears; as, for example, the military profession in peace, of which we have instances here. But with regard to the others, it is more or less untrue. When one profession is compared with another, the one is usually taken in its naked reality, and the other in the most beautiful ideality, and then the decision is quickly made. How easy it is for an artist to feel such reality in his sphere, and yet esteempracticalmen happy who have studied and known the different relations of men towards each other, and who help others to live by their own life and progress, and at once see the fruitsof all that is tangible, useful, and benevolent instituted by them. In one respect, too, an upright man has the hardest stand to make, in knowing that the public are more attracted by outward show than by truth. But individual failures and strife must not be allowed to have their growth in the heart; there must be something to occupy and to elevate it far above these isolated external things. This speaks strongly in favour of my opinion, for it is the best part of every calling, and common to all; to yours, to mine, and to every other. Where is it that you find beauty when I am working at a quartett or a symphony? Merely in that portion of myself that I transfer to it, or can succeed in expressing; and you can do this in as full a measure as any man, in your defence of a culprit, or in a case of libel, or in any one thing that entirely engrosses you, and that is the great point. If you can only give utterance to your inmost thoughts, and if these inmost thoughts become more and more worthy of being expressed, ... all the rest is indifferent. I thank you, therefore, for the report you give me of your occupations, and hope you will often send me equally good tidings.—Your
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, October 28th, 1838.
My dear Friend,
A thousand thanks for your continued friendship towards me, and also for occasionally assuring me of it; a letter from you cheers me for a long time to come, and what you write of yourself and others is always so fertile, and as much yourself, as if I heard you speaking, and were agreeing with you, and rejoicing in doing so. If I were a little more mild, and a little more just, and a little more judicious, and a good many other things a little more, perhaps I, too, might then have a judgment equal to yours; but I am so soon irritated, and become unreasonable, whereas you love what is good, and yet what is bad appears to you worth amendment.
On the occasion of Clara Novello’s concert, a vast amount of rivalry, and bad artistic feeling, was brought to the light of day, which I neither wish to exist by day, nor by night, nor indeed in the world at all. In fact, when reallygoodmusicians condescend to depreciate each other, and to be malicious, and to sting in secret, I would sooner renounce music altogether, or rather, I should say, musicians; it is such petty, tinkering work, and yet it seems to be the fashion! formerly, I thought it was so only with bunglers, but I see it is the same with all. A straightforward character alone is a protection against such an example, and a straightforwardfellow, who despises it. Yet this serves to endear goodness to us still more, and we rejoice doubly in the contrast, and in good art, and in good artists, and in letters from you; and thus the world is by no means so bad after all.
Leipzig, November 2nd, 1838.
Dear Schubring,
Many, many thanks for your letter, which I received the day before yesterday, and for the parcel, which came to-day. You have again rendered me an essential service, and I feel most grateful to you; how can you ask whether I wish you to proceed in the same way? When all is so well put together, I have almost nothing to do, but to write music for the words. I ought to have previously told you, that the sheets you took away with you are by no means to be regarded as containing a mature design, but as a mere combination of the materials I had before me for the purpose of eventually forming a plan. So the passage of the widow, and also of the raven, being left out, is decidedly most advisable, and also the whole commencement being abridged, in order that the main points may be dwelt on to one’s heart’s content. I would urgently entreat you to proceed with your work, so far as your time and leisure will permit, and soon tosend me the continuation of the first part, from where you left off, and which must now be of considerable length. Rest assured that, as I already told you, you will earn my most sincere gratitude.
You say that at first, you could not make anything of the subject, but that a sudden light dawned on you. I figured to myself Elijah as a grand, mighty prophet, such, as we might again require in our own day energetic and zealous, but also stern, wrathful, and gloomy; a striking contrast to the Court myrmidons and popular rabble,—in fact, in opposition to the whole world, and yet borne on angels’ wings. Is this the inference you drew from the subject, and this the sense in which you conceived an affection for it? I am anxious to do justice to thedramaticelement, and, as you say, no epic narrative must be introduced. I am glad to learn that you are searching out the real sense of the Scriptural words, which cannot fail to touch every heart; but if I might make one observation, it is that I would fain see the Dramatic Element more prominent, as well as more exuberant and defined,—appeal and rejoinder, question and answer, sudden interruptions, etc. etc. Not that it disturbs me, for example, Elijah first speaking of the assembling of the people, and then forthwith addressing them. All such liberties are the natural privileges of such a representation in an oratorio; but I should like the representation itself to be as spirited as possible; for instance, it annoys me that Elijah does not replyto Ahab’s words, No. 16 till No. 18; various other speeches and a chorus intervening. I should like to have had an instant and eager rejoinder, etc. etc.
But we shall no doubt presently agree on such points, and I would only entreat you, when you resume your work, to think of this wish of mine. Above all, accept my thanks for your kindness, and write to me soon on the same subject.—Ever your
Felix M. B.
Leipzig, November 5th, 1838.
I have felt unequal to resume the train of my musical compositions since the measles. You cannot conceive the chaos that accumulates round me, when I am obliged neither to write, nor to go out, for three weeks. At last, here I am, correcting the parts of my three violin quartetts, which are to appear this winter, but I never can contrive to complete them, owing to so many letters, and affairs, and otherodiosa. The Shaws are here, who don’t know one word of German, and not many words of French, and yet they live with thorough, downright Leipzigers, who only speak their Leipzig vernacular; and Bennett, with two young English musicians, and six new symphonies, and letters, and passing strangers, and rehearsals, and Heaven knowswhat all the other things are, which swallow up the day, leaving no more trace than if it had never existed. Truly the most delightful of all things is to be enabled to store up precious and enduring memorials of past days, to tell that these days were; and the most hateful of all things is, when time passes on, and we pass with it, and yet grasp nothing.
I am reading Lessing just now frequently, with true enjoyment and gratitude. At the end of the most fatiguing day, this famous fellow makes me feel quite fresh again; though Germany fares rather badly when you read his letters to his grandfather, or to Nicolai, Gleim, and Eckert; and yet Lessing wrote in German, and in such German, too, that it cannot be well translated!
Berlin, November 21st, 1838.
So I am said to be a saint! If this is intended to convey what I conceive to be the meaning of the word, and what your expressions lead me to think you also understand by it, then I can only say that, alas! I am not so, though every day of my life I strive with greater earnestness, according to my ability, more and more to resemble this character. I know indeed that I can never hope to be altogether a saint, but if I everapproach to one, it will be well. If people, however, understand by the word ‘saint’ a Pietist, one of those who lay their hands on their laps, and expect that Providence will do their work for them, and who, instead of striving in their vocation to press on towards perfection, talk of a heavenly calling being incompatible with an earthly one, and are incapable of loving with their whole hearts any human being, or anything on earth,—then, God be praised! such a one I am not, and hope never to become, so long as I live; and though I am sincerely desirous to live piously, and really to be so, I hope this does not necessarily entail the other character. It is singular that people should select preciselythistime to say such a thing, when I am in the enjoyment of so much happiness, both through my inner and outer life, and my new domestic ties, as well as busy work, that I really never know how sufficiently to show my thankfulness. And, as you wish me to follow the path which leads to rest and peace, believe me, I never expected to live in the rest and peace which have now fallen to my lot. I offer you a thousand thanks for your good wishes, and beg you not to be uneasy on either of these points.
It is pleasant to learn what you write to me of yourself and your works, and that you also are persuaded that what people usually call honour and fame are but doubtful advantages, while another species of honour, of a more elevated and spiritual nature, is as essential as it is rare.The truth of this is best seen in the case of those who possess all possible worldly distinctions, without deriving from them one moment of real pleasure, but only causing them the more greedily to crave after them; and this fact was first made quite evident to me in Paris. I rejoice that you are not one of those who speak in a contemptuous strain of French painters, for I have always received great pleasure from the good ones of the present day, and I cannot believe in the sincerity of those persons who, at sight of one your pictures, fall into ecstasies, and yet presume from the height of their throne to look down on one of Horace Vernet’s. What I mean is, that if one beautiful object pleases the eye, another cannot fail also to inspire sympathy; at least, so it is with myself.
Leipzig, December 6th, 1838.
Dear Schubring,
Along with this you will receive the organ pieces and “Bonifacius” which I also enclose. Thank you much for the latter, and for the manuscripts you have from time to time sent me for “Elijah;” they are of the greatest possible use to me, and though I may here and there make some alterations, still the whole affair, by your aid, is now placed on a much firmer footing. With regard to the dramatic element, therestill seems to be a diversity of opinion between us. In such a character as that of Elijah, like every one in the Old Testament, except perhaps Moses, it appears to me that the dramatic should predominate,—the personages should be introduced as acting and speaking with fervour; not however, for Heaven’s sake, to become mere musical pictures, but inhabitants of a positive, practical world, such as we see in every chapter of the Old Testament; and the contemplative and pathetic element which you desire, must be entirely conveyed to our apprehension by the words and the mood of the acting personages.
In your “Bonifacius,” for instance, this was a point to which I was by no means reconciled; in my opinion he ought to have been treated dramatically throughout, like a theatrical representation (in its best sense) only withoutvisibleaction. The Scriptural allusions too should, according to my idea, be more sparingly introduced, and placed in his mouth alone. The contrast between this style of language (which pervades the whole) and that at the coronation, is not sufficiently equalized. Pepin, and all the pagans, and pagan priests, flit before me like shadows or misty forms, whereas, to satisfy me, they must be solid, robust men. Do not be displeased that I send you a bit of criticism along with my thanks, for such is my insufferable custom. Besides a cold and cough make me unusually rabid to day. I am now about to set to work on the “Elijah,” and toplough away at the soil as I best can; if I do not get on with it, you must come to my aid; and I hope as kindly as ever, and preserve the same regard for your
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, March 4th, 1839.
The manuscripts which I ought to have sent you last year are not yet finished; I wished to make them as perfect as I could; but for this both leisure and good humour were requisite, and during the period of constant concerts these too often failed. Now I hope shortly to complete the pieces, and thus free myself from debt.
But they are not “songs without words,” for I have no intention of writing any more of that sort, let the Hamburgers say what they will! If there were too many suchanimalculæbetween heaven and earth, at last no one would care about them; and there really is quite a mass of piano music composed now in a similar style; another chord should be struck, I say.—I am, with entire esteem, your obedient
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, March 18th, 1839.
You wish to know how the overture to “Ruy Blas” went off. Famously. Six or eight weeks since an application was made to me in favour of a representation to be given for the Theatrical Pension Fund (an excellent benevolent institution here, for the benefit of which “Ruy Blas” was to be given). I was requested to compose an overture for it, and the music of the romance in the piece, for it was thought the receipts would be better if my name appeared in the bills. I read the piece, which is detestable, and more utterly beneath contempt than you could believe, and said, that I had no leisure to write the overture, but I composed the romance for them. The performance was to take place last Monday week; on the previous Tuesday the people came to thank me politely for the romance, and said it was such a pity I had not also written an overture, but they were perfectly aware that time was indispensable for such a work, and the ensuing year, if I would permit them, they would give me longer previous notice. This put me on my mettle. I reflected on the matter the same evening, and began my score. On Wednesday there was a concert rehearsal, which occupied the whole forenoon. Thursday the concert itself, yet the overture was in the hands of the copyist early on Friday; played three times on Monday in the concertroom, tried over once in the theatre, and given in the evening as an introduction to the odious play. Few of my works have caused me more amusing excitement. It is to be repeated, by desire, at the next concert, but I mean to call it, not the overture to “Ruy Blas,” but to the Theatrical Pension Fund.
Frankfort, June 18th, 1839.
Dear Fanny,
Give me your best advice! The eccentric Capellmeister Guhr is become my particular friend, and we are quite inseparable. Lately we were in a pleasant cordial mood, and I was eagerly questioning him about his extensive and rare collection of Bach’s works, among which are two autographs, the choral preludes for the organ, and the “Passecaille,” with a grand fugue at the end of it,—