... So now in these lines you have read my whole life and occupations since I came here; for that I am well and happy, and often think of you, is included in them, and that I am also diligent and working hard at many things, is the natural result. I really believe that Jean Paul, whom I am at this moment reading with intense delight, has also some influence in the matter, for he invariably infects me for at least half a year with his strange peculiarities. I have been reading ‘Fixlein’ again; but my greatest pleasure in doing so, is the remembrance of the time when I first became acquainted with it, by your reading it aloud to me beside my sick-bed, when it did me so much good. I also began ‘Siebenkäs’ again, for the first time for some years, and have read from the close of the prologue to the end of the first part, and am quite enchanted with this noble work. The prologue itself is a masterpiece such as no one else could write, and so it is with the whole book, the friends, and the school-inspector, and Lenette. It revives my love for my country, and makes me feel proud of being a German, although in these days they all abuse each other. Yet such people do sometimes rise to the surface, and I do believe that no country can boast of such a sterling fellow as this.
To Rebecca Dirichlet, Berlin.
Düsseldorf, December 23rd, 1834.
Dear Rebecca,
Why should we not, like established correspondents, exchange repeated letters on any particular subject about which we differ? I on my part will represent a methodical correspondent, and must absolutely resume the question of révolution. This is chiefly for Fanny’s benefit, but are not you identical? Can you not therefore discuss the subject together, and answer me together, if you choose? And have I not pondered and brooded much over this theme since I got your letter, which now prompts me to write? You must, however, answer me in due form, till not one jot or tittle more remains to be said in favour of révolution. Observe, I think that there is a vast distinction between reformation or reforming, and revolution, etc. Reformation is that which I desire to see in all things, in life and in art, in politics and in street pavement, and Heaven knows in what else besides. Reformation is entirely negative against abuses, and only removes what obstructs the path; but a revolution, by means of which all that was formerly good (and really good) is no longer to continue, is to me the most intolerable of all things, and is, in fact, only a fashion. Therefore, I would not for a moment listen to Fanny, when she said that Lafont’s playing could inspire no further interest since the revolution effected by Paganini; for if his playing ever had the power to interest me, it would still do so, even if in the meantime I had heard the Angel Gabriel on the violin. It is just this, however, that those Frenchmen I alluded to can form no conception of; that what is good, however old, remains always new, even although the present must differ from the past, because it emanates from other and dissimilar men. Inwardly they are only ordinary men like the former, and have only outwardly learned that something new must come, so they strive to accomplish this, and if they are even moderately applauded or flattered, they instantly declare that they have effected a révolution du goût. This is why I behave so badly when they do me the honour (as you call it) to rank me among the leaders of this movement, when I well know that, for thorough self-cultivation, the whole of a man’s life is required (and often does not suffice); and also because no Frenchman, and no newspaper, knows or ever can know what the future is to give or to bring; and, in order to guide the movements of others, we must first be in motion ourselves, while such reflections cause us to look back on the past, not forward. Progress is made by work alone, and not by talking, which those people do not believe.
But, for Heaven’s sake, don’t suppose that I wish to disown either reformation or progress, for I hope one day myself to effect a reform in music; and this, as you may see, is because I am simply a musician, and I wish to be nothing more. Now answer me, I beg, and preach to me again.
To-day I have completed and transcribed an entire chorus for “St. Paul.” I may as well at once reply here to a letter I received this morning, dictated by my father to Fanny, and to which my mother added a postscript. First of all, I thank you for writing, and then, dear Father, I would entreat of you not to withhold from me your advice, as you say, for it is always clear gain to me; and if I cannot rectify the old faults, I can at least avoid committing new ones. The non-appearance of St. Paul at the stoning of Stephen is certainly a blemish, and I could easily alter the passage in itself; but I could find absolutely no mode of introducing him at that time, and no words for him to utter in accordance with the Scriptural narrative; therefore it seemed to me more expedient to follow the Bible account, and to make Stephen appear alone. I think, however, that your other censure is obviated by the music; for the recitative of Stephen, though the words are long, will not occupy more than two or three minutes, or—including all the choruses—till his death, about a quarter of an hour; whereas subsequently, at and after the conversion, the music becomes more and more diffuse, though the words are fewer.
To Pastor Bauer, Beszig.
Düsseldorf, January 12th, 1835.
[About a proposal as to some words for sacred music.]