To Carl Klingemann, London.
Leipzig, July 15th, 1841.
My dear Friend,
To-morrow I go with some pleasant friends to Dresden to hear Ungher and Moriani sing, to see Raphael and Titian paint, and to breathe the air of that lovely region. A few days after my return I am off for a year to Berlin, one of the sourest apples a man can eat, and yet eaten it must be. Strangely enough, there seems to be a misunderstanding between us on this affair, and hitherto we have scarcely ever had one. You think I want your advice, and mean to act according to it; but, in fact, when I say anything to you, or discuss anything, I say it and do it from no other reason than from instinct. I must speak to you or discuss whatever is of importance to me, or nearly concerns me; it cannot be otherwise, and this proceeds so little from that tiresome asking for advice, that I am convinced, if you had not answered me at all, and if we had not spoken to each other for ten years, I should have asked you the same questions, and expected your answer as eagerly, and received it with as much pleasure as now. There is a curious misapprehension on your part, with regard to the comparison between the two cities. You believe (and several of the residents here, as well as strangers, have told me the same), that here in Leipzig we have comfort, domestic life, and retirement; and in Berlin, public efficacy in and for Germany, and active work for the benefit of others, etc. etc.; whereas it is in truth exactly the reverse. It is just because I am so unwilling to be burdened with a sinecure, the public active efficiency which you so urged on me formerly, and which seemed to myself so necessary, having become gradually dear to me, and nothing of the kind being possible in Berlin,—it is for these very reasons I go there unwillingly. There, all efforts are private efforts without any echo in the land, and this they certainly do have here, small as the nest is. I did not establish myself in Leipzig with a view to a quiet life; on the contrary, I felt a longing to do so, because here all is so gay and motley. On the other hand, I have mastered and learned many things, which could only be thus mastered and learned, nor have I been idle either; I think I am on a better footing with my countrymen, in Germany, and have gained their confidence more than I should probably have done all my life long in Berlin, and that is worth something too. That I am now to recommence a private life, but at the same time to become a sort of school-master to a Conservatorium, is what I can scarcely understand, after my excellent vigorous orchestra here. I might perhaps do so if I were really to enjoy an entirely private life, in which case I should only compose and live in retirement; but the mongrel Berlin doings interfere; the vast projects, the petty execution, the admirable criticism, the indifferent musicians, the liberal ideas, the Court officials in the streets, the Museum and the Academy, and the sand! I doubt whether my stay there will be more than a year; still I shall of course do all in my power, not to allow this time to pass without some profit to myself and others. I shall have no solitude during the time, for I must bestir myself and write what I can; a couple of earlier melodies may bring up the rear-guard. Many others have come to light since their date; you see I defend myself vigorously, with claws and teeth. Believe me, Berlin is at the present day the city which is the least efficacious, and Leipzig the most beneficial to the public. Do you know what I have recently been composing with enthusiasm? Variations for the piano,—actually eighteen on a theme in D minor, and they amused me so famously, that I instantly made fresh ones on a theme in E flat major, and now for the third time on a theme in B flat major. I feel quite as if I must make up for lost time, never having written any before.