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.
To his Brother-in-Law, Professor Dirichlet, Berlin,
Leipzig, January 4th, 1847.
Dear Dirichlet,
I write you these lines to say that I wish for my sake, I might say for your sake also, that you should remain at Berlin.[89] Jesting apart, I would gladly repeat in writing, and at this new year’s time, all that I said to you about it personally. The more I reflect on this plan here (not in Berlin), the more I feel convinced that its execution would grieve me, first, for your own sake, and secondly, for mine (which comes to one and the same thing); for when I look repeatedly around here, and thus try to discover what kind of weather there is in Germany (and you know that it is often long, long before this can be perceived in Berlin), I everywhere see the current setting in towards large cities, but receding from the smaller ones. It might be said, then, a residence in small towns will now become really agreeable; but they, too, will not be content to remain in their state of quiet comfort, but strive to become great cities: and this is why I could not see any one, far less yourself, leave a large city at this moment to settle in a small one, without the most extreme concern. There are a thousand wants, both material and spiritual, which these smaller places are at this moment seeking to supply (thus making these wants only more perceptible), a thousand pleasant things in life and knowledge,—all linked for many long years with yourself and with Rebecca’s early days,—which you value less than they deserve, because you have always been accustomed to have things in one fashion and in no other, and because you are uneasy about the present, and dissatisfied with what is going on. But, in truth, you will find the same uneasiness, and the same dissatisfaction, prevailing everywhere through all Germany; at present, indeed, only in those whom you meet, and not in yourself, the new-comer; but, alas! alas! in these days such contamination spreads hourly in our Fatherland, where these evils daily strike deeper root, and you will and must experience them also, wherever you go, and not in any respect improve your condition in this chief point. By your change of residence, you cannot effect any cure in the prevailing malady, and I as little with my subscription concerts; it can only be done by very different means, or by a very sharp crisis; and, in any event, it would then be best not to be placed in new, but in old familiar circumstances. A third thing may happen, and, alas! not the most improbable; all may remain in its old form. In that case also, however, it is best not to begin a new life, which holds out no prospect of any improvement in itself. I do wish, then, that you would remain in Berlin.
That you, by any kind of promise, however well meant, or positive, are now in the hands of the people of Heidelberg, and must say Yes, if they say Yes also, I cannot believe. Such a connection as yours with Berlin is not to be dissolved by a letter and a few words; and if these people believe that by your answer they have acquired any right over you, it is not to be denied that the others have at least an equal right. Simply from an overweening sense of justice, and from too much delicacy, a person often chooses that which costs him the greatest sacrifice, and thus, I believe, you would at last rather choose Heidelberg; but they will not be sensible of this: they only wish to conclude a bargain, and you must do the same, and no more. In the meanwhile they have the præ, because they wish to acquire something new for themselves, and the people of Berlin only to keep what they have, and the former is always more tempting and pleasant; but, as I said before, it is a mere matter of business,—do not forget that; and you know quite as well as I do that all the Berliners are anxious to keep you. Forgive my strange lecture, but remain.
I ask it for my sake also; for I have now, I may say, decided soon to go for the winter to Berlin. Don’t let us play at the game of “change sides.” I preferred a residence in a smaller town, under very favourable circumstances; I always liked it, and am accustomed to no other, and yet I feel compelled to leave it, to rejoin those with whom I enjoyed my childhood and youth, and whose memories and friendships and experiences are the same as my own. My plan is, that we should form all together one pleasant united household, such as we have not seen for long, and live happily together (independent of political life or non-life, which has swallowed up all else). For some time past everything seems to contribute to this, and, as I said, I shall not be found wanting, for I consider it the greatest possible good fortune that could ever befall me; so do not frustrate all this by one blow, but remain in Berlin, and let us be together there. These are my reasons, badly expressed, but better intended than expressed; and don’t take this amiss.—Your
Felix.