To Frau Geheimeräthin Steffens, geb. Reichardt, Berlin.
Leipzig, February, 1847.
Dear Madam,
When I meet any one who knew my Father, and who loved and esteemed him as he deserved, I immediately look on such a one as a friend, and not as a stranger, and a meeting of this kind always makes me glad and happy. As you no doubt feel the same, I trust you will excuse the liberty I take in addressing you. I wish to relate to you how touched and delighted the friends of music in Leipzig were yesterday by the composition of your father; we felt as if his spirit were still living and working among us, and indeed it is so. In the concert of yesterday (which, like the previous and both the ensuing ones, was dedicated to a kind of historical succession of the great masters) there was an opportunity of bringing before the public some of your father’s songs. A symphony of Haydn’s was followed by the Reichardt song, “Dem Schnee, dem Regen,” and his duett, “Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese stand;” and then the same poem set to music by Mozart. You will perceive that your father’s music was by no means in a very easy proximity, but I wish you could have heard how he maintained his honourable position. The very first song sounded charming and effective; but when the little duett was given by two very fresh pure voices, in great simplicity and perfection, many a lover of music could not suppress his tears, so charming and genial was that music, so genuine and touching. Such applause as we seldom hear, and a da capo of all three verses, followed as a matter of course. This was not for a moment doubtful after the three first bars had been sung, and I felt as if I could not only listen to the song twice, but during the whole evening, and to nothing else. It was the true genuine German song, such as no other nation has, but even ours nothing better; perhaps grander, certainly more complicated, more elaborate, and more artificial, but not on that account more artistic—thus, not better. This must happily be the case for all time, and it must cause you much joy, thus once more to meet your father’s spirit in its still living influence; for many a young musician who heard his music yesterday (if, indeed, he can feel such things at all) will now know better what a song should be, than from all the books of instruction, all the lectures, and all the examples of the present day; “and thus is life won,” as Goethe says. Forgive me for writing nothing in this letter, except that the Reichardt songs were so lovely, and the Leipzig public so enchanted. The first you have long known, though the second in itself may be a matter of indifference; but as I was seated at the piano accompanying yesterday and feeling such delight, I said to myself that I must write to you about it.
Begging you to recall me to the remembrance of your daughter, I am your
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.[90]