To President Verkenius, Cologne.
Berlin, August 23rd, 1841.
Dear Herr President,
You see that I take advantage of your permission, and write constantly; if it be too much for you, let me know it, or do not read my letters. May it please God that I shall soon receive good news of your returning health! I think of it every day, and I wish it every day! In my previous letter, I promised you some details of musical life here, so far as I am acquainted with it. Unfortunately, there is very little that is cheering to relate. Here, as everywhere else, it is principally the committees which ought to be answerable for this; while, as these are appointed, more or less, by the public, I cannot make the distinction which seems so usual with the Berliners, who abuse and revile all committees, both musical and others, and yet like to see them remain in their old form. The whole tendency of the musicians, as well as of the dilettanti, is too little directed to the practical; they play chiefly that they may talk about it, before and afterwards, so the discussions are better and wiser than in most other places in Germany, but the music more defective. Unfortunately, there is very little to discuss with regard to music and its deficiencies; the only thing to be done is to feel, and to improve it; so I have not the least idea how it is ever to become better. In the orchestra (excellent as some individual members of it are), this is, alas! too perceptible. In operas and symphonies, I have heard blunders, and false notes constantly played, which could only proceed from the grossest carelessness. The people are Royal functionaries, and cannot be brought to account, and if the conversation turns on these faults afterwards, they strive to prove that there is no such thing as time, or should be none,—what can I say? but item, it goes badly. I have played my trio ten or twelve times here; on each occasion the same mistakes were made in the time, and the same careless blunders in the accompaniment, though they were the first artists here who played with me. The blame of this state of things rests chiefly on Spontini, who was for so long a period at their head, and who rather oppressed, than sought to elevate and improve, the many excellent musicians in this orchestra. My conviction is, that Spohr would be the man to aid them, and to restore proper order; but just because he is so, he will not be elected; too many talk about it, and wish to have everything in ideal beauty; and this produces mediocrity. The dilettanti doings are even worse. Their chief organ and institution is the Academy for Singing, and there each individual considers himself far superior to the Director. But if they really did all know properly how things should be, they would sing better together,—whoever directed,—and the false notes, and errors in time, would disappear,—but they by no means disappear. So here again, it is mostly all talk. I lately heard Pasta in “Semiramide.” She sings now so fearfully out of tune, especially in the middle notes, that it is quite painful to listen to her; but, of course, the splendid remains of her great talent, the traces of a first-class singer, are often unmistakable. In any other city, this dreadful want of tune would have been felt first of all, and, afterwards, the remembrance that she was a great artist would have recurred; here every one said, beforehand, that here was the Pasta, she was old, she could no longer sing in tune, so this must be put out of the question. In other places, they would perhaps have unjustly abased her; here they as unjustly praised her to the skies, and after deliberate reflection, and entire consciousness of the state of things, they continued to be delighted,—this is a bad kind of delight!
How hypochondriacal this letter is become! I ought rather to write to you in a gayer strain, to cheer you. Next time I shall try to find a more rose-coloured aspect; forgive the dark-brown hues of to-day.[51] With the most heartfelt and cordial wishes for your recovery, I am always, your loving
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
To Franz Hauser,
(PRESENT DIRECTOR OF THE CONSERVATORIUM IN MUNICH.)
Berlin, October 12th, 1841.
... I do not know what you have been told about Berlin and its prospects. If, however, you allude to the project of which all the people and all the journals are speaking, that of establishing a Musical Conservatorium here, then I regret to be obliged to say, that I know no more about it than every one else seems to know. It is said the desire for it exists, and perhaps a remote prospect, but far too remote for anything to be told about it with the least certainty at present. Years may pass away, nothing may ever come of it (which is not at all improbable), and also it may soon be again discussed. During the last three months which I passed here I came to this conclusion, on seeing the proceedings more closely. I am so kindly received on every side, that personally I can wish for nothing better, and have only cause for gratitude. But though it is easy for a person here to do what he chooses, it is proportionably difficult to aid the cause; and yet that is, after all, the most important point, and should be the very first. If I only knew how to make this better! In the meanwhile I write music, and when asked a question I answer it.