To Carl Klingemann, London.
Leipzig, December 6th, 1846.
... Montaigne says, and so does Vult, that a man can have but one friend; you will find this too in the ‘Flegeljahre.’ I also said this from my heart when I received your letter, my one friend!
How gladly would I have burst forth into joy and gratitude, at the news it contained, and have replied in a gay and happy spirit; but this was impossible, as at the time your letter arrived, we were in great anxiety about our servant Johann, who had been confined to bed for the last two mouths, with a species of dropsy, becoming daily worse, and when, about a fortnight since, the improvement took place that we had been so anxiously longing for during three weeks, his vital powers suddenly sank, and to our great sorrow he died. You know that I valued him very highly, and can well understand, that during the whole time when I saw him suffer so much, and become worse and worse, and then the momentary hope that ensued, followed by his sudden and inevitable death, must cause me to be in a very grave mood for long, long to come. His mother and sister did not arrive here till the day after his funeral. It distressed us also very much, not to be able to say one consolatory word to them! Among his things, which were all in the most exemplary order, we found a letter to me containing his last will; I must show you this the next time we meet,—no man, no poet indeed, could have written anything more heartfelt, earnest and touching; then there was a great deal to do and to regulate, until all the trunks, with his clothes, etc., were sent off to his mother, and his brothers and sisters: and this was why I have been unable to write to you during the last few weeks. I relate all this to you in detail, because you are my one friend, and because you sympathize in all that really affects and concerns me. Happily, I was able to work the whole time (though, indeed, not to compose). I got the parts of Bach’s B minor Mass from Dresden. (Do you remember it on Zelter’s Fridays?) It is chiefly in his own writing, and dedicated to the Elector of that day. (“To his Royal Highness the most noble the Elector of Saxony, the accompanying Mass is dedicated, with the most respectful devotion of the author, J. S. Bach.” This is inscribed on the title-page.) From it I have gradually corrected all the mistakes in my score, which were innumerable, and which I had frequently remarked, but never had a proper opportunity to rectify. This occupation, mechanical, though now and then interesting enough, was most welcome to me. For the last few days, however, I have again begun to work with all my might at my “Elijah,” and hope to amend the greatest part of what I thought deficient in the first performance. I have quite completed one of the most difficult parts (the widow), and you will certainly be pleased with the alterations,—I may well say, with the improvements. “Elijah” is become far more impressive and mysterious in this part, the want of which was what annoyed me. Unluckily I never find out this kind of thing till post festum, and till I have improved it. I hope, too, to hit on the true sense of other passages that we have discussed together, and shall seriously revise all that I did not deem satisfactory; so that I hope to see the whole completely finished within a few weeks, and then be able to begin something new. The parts that I have hitherto remodelled prove to me that I am right, not to rest till such a work is as good as I can make it, although in these matters very few people either remark or wish to hear about them, and yet they cost a very, very great deal of time; but, on the other hand, such passages make a very different impression when they are really made better, both in themselves, and with regard to all other portions,—you see I am still so very much pleased with the part of the widow, that I completed to-day,—so I think it will not do to rest satisfied with them just as they are. Conscience, too, has a word to say on this matter.