For a week past I have been seeking for a leisure hour to answer, and to thank you for the charming letters I have received from you; but the London days, with their distractions, were not worse than the time has been since Fanny left this till now. At length, after the successful result of the first concert, I have at last a certain degree of rest.
The day after I accompanied the Hensels to Delitsch, Chopin came; he intended only to remain one day, so we spent this entirely together in music. I cannot deny, dear Fanny, that I have lately found that you by no means do him justice in your judgment of his talents; perhaps he was not in a humour for playing when you heard him, which may not unfrequently be the case with him. But his playing has enchanted me afresh, and I am persuaded that if you, and my Father also, had heard some of his better pieces, as he played them to me, you would say the same. There is something thoroughly original in his pianoforte playing, and at the same time so masterly, that he may be called a most perfect virtuoso; and as every style of perfection is welcome and acceptable, that day was most agreeable to me, although so entirely different from the previous ones with you,—the Hensels.
It was so pleasant for me to be once more with a thorough musician, and not with those half virtuosos and half classics, who would gladly combine les honneurs de la vertu et les plaisirs du vice, but with one who has his perfect and well-defined phase; and however far asunder we may be in our different spheres, still I can get on famously with such a person; but not with those half-and-half people. Sunday evening was really very remarkable when Chopin made me play over my oratorio to him, while curious Leipzigers stole into the room to see him, and when between the first and second part he dashed into his new Études and a new concerto, to the amazement of the Leipzigers, and then I resumed my “St. Paul;” it was just as if a Cherokee and a Kaffir had met to converse. He has also such a lovely new notturno, a considerable part of which I learnt by ear for the purpose of playing it for Paul’s amusement. So we got on most pleasantly together; and he promised faithfully to return in the course of the winter, when I intend to compose a new symphony, and to perform it in honour of him. We vowed these things in the presence of three witnesses, and we shall see whether we both adhere to our word. My collection of Handel’s works arrived before Chopin’s departure, and were a source of quite childish delight to him; they really are so beautiful that I am charmed with them; thirty-two great folios, bound in thick green leather, in the regular nice English fashion, and on the back, in big gold letters, the title and contents of each volume; and in the first volume, besides, there are the following words, “To Director F. M. B., from the Committee of the Cologne Musical Festival, 1835.” The books were accompanied by a very civil letter, with the signatures of all the Committee, and on taking up one of the volumes at random it happened to be “Samson,” and just at the very beginning I found a grand aria for Samson which is quite unknown, because Herr von Mosel struck it out, and which yields in beauty to none of Handel’s; so you see what pleasure is in store for me in all the thirty-two volumes. You may imagine my delight. Before setting off on his journey Moscheles came to see me, and during the first half-hour he played over my second book of “songs without words” to my extreme pleasure. He is not the least changed, only somewhat older in appearance, but otherwise as fresh and in as good spirits as ever, and playing quite splendidly; another kind of perfect virtuoso and master combined. The rehearsals of the first subscription gradually drew near, and the day before yesterday my Leipzig music-directorship commenced. I cannot tell you how much I am satisfied with this beginning, and with the whole aspect of my position here. It is a quiet, regular, official business. That the Institute has been established for fifty-six years is very perceptible, and moreover, the people seem most friendly and well-disposed towards me and my music. The orchestra is very good, and thoroughly musical; and I think that six months hence it will be much improved, for the sympathy and attention with which these people receive my suggestions, and instantly adopt them, were really touching in both the rehearsals we have hitherto had; there was as great a difference as if another orchestra had been playing. There are still some deficiencies in the orchestra, but these will be supplied by degrees; and I look forward to a succession of pleasant evenings and good performances. I wish you had heard the introduction to my “Meeresstille” (for the concert began with that); there was such profound silence in the hall and in the orchestra, that the most delicate notes could be distinctly heard, and they played the adagio from first to last in the most masterly manner; the allegro not quite so well; for being accustomed to a slower tempo, they rather dragged; but at the end, where the slow time 4/4 ff begins, they went capitally; the violins attacking it with a degree of vehemence that quite startled me and delighted the publicus. The following pieces, an air in E major of Weber, a violin concerto by Spohr, and the introduction to “Ali Baba” did not go so well; the one rehearsal was not sufficient, and they were often unsteady; but, on the other hand, Beethoven’s B flat symphony, which formed the second part, was splendidly given, so that the Leipzigers shouted with delight at the close of each movement. I never in any orchestra saw such zeal and excitement; they listened like—popinjays, Zelter would say.
After the concert I received, and offered in turn, a mass of congratulations: first the orchestra, then the Thomas School collegians (who are capital fellows, and go to college, and are dismissed so punctually that I have promised them an order); then came Moscheles, with a Court suite of dilettanti, then two editors of musical papers, and so on. Moscheles’ concert is on Friday, and I am to play his piece for two pianos[23] with him, and he is to play my new pianoforte-concerto. My “Hebrides” have also contrived to creep into the concert. This afternoon Moscheles, Clara Wieck, and I, play Sebastian Bach’s triple concerto in D minor. How amiable Moscheles is towards myself, how cordially he is interested in my situation here, how it delights me that he is so satisfied with it, how he plays my rondo in E flat to my great admiration, and far better than I originally conceived it, and how we dine together every forenoon in his hotel, and every evening drink tea and have music in mine,—all this you can imagine for yourself, for you know him,—especially you, dear Father. These are pleasant days; and if I have not much leisure to work, I mean to make up for it hereafter, and shall derive as much benefit from it then as now.
My first concert caused me no perturbation, dear Mother, but to my shame I confess, that I never felt so embarrassed at the moment of appearing as on that occasion; I believe it arose from our long correspondence and treaty on the subject, and I had never before seen a concert of the kind. The locality and the lights confused me. Now farewell all. May you be well and happy, and pray write to me very often.—Your
Felix.
To Pastor Julius Schubring, Dessau.
Leipzig, December 6th, 1835.
Dear Schubring,
You have no doubt heard of the heavy stroke that has fallen on my happy life and those dear to me.[24] It is the greatest misfortune that could have befallen me, and a trial that I must either strive to bear up against, or must utterly sink under. I say this to myself after the lapse of three weeks, without the acute anguish of the first days, but I now feel it even more deeply; a new life must now begin for me, or all must be at an end,—the old life is now severed. For our consolation and example, our Mother bears her loss with the most wonderful composure and firmness; she comforts herself with her children and grandchildren, and thus strives to hide the chasm that never can be filled up. My Brother and Sisters do what they can to fulfil their duties better than ever, the more difficult they have become. I was ten days in Berlin, that by my presence my Mother should at least be surrounded by her whole family; but I need scarcely tell you what these days were; you know it well, and no doubt you thought of me in that dark hour. God granted to my Father the prayer that he had often uttered; his end was as peaceful and quiet, and as sudden and unexpected as he desired. On Wednesday, the 18th, he was surrounded by all his family, went to bed late the same evening, complained a little early on Thursday, and at half-past eleven his life was ended. The physicians can give his malady no name. It seems that my grandfather Moses died in a similar manner,—so my uncle told us,—at the same age, without sickness, and in a calm and cheerful frame of mind. I do not know whether you are aware that more especially for some years past, my Father was so good to me, so thoroughly my friend, that I was devoted to him with my whole soul, and during my long absence I scarcely ever passed an hour without thinking of him; but as you knew him in his own home with us, in all his kindliness, you can well realize my state of mind. The only thing that now remains is to do one’s duty, and this I strive to accomplish with all my strength, for he would wish it to be so if he were still present, and I shall never cease to endeavour to gain his approval as I formerly did, though I can no longer enjoy it. When I delayed answering your letter, I little thought that I should have to answer it thus; let me thank you for it now, and for all your kindness. One passage for “St. Paul” was excellent, “der Du der rechte Vater bist.” I have a chorus in my head for it which I intend shortly to write down. I shall now work with double zeal at the completion of “St. Paul” for my Father urged me to it in the very last letter he wrote to me, and he looked forward very impatiently to the completion of my work. I feel as if I must exert all my energies to finish it, and make it as good as possible, and then think that he takes an interest in it. If any good passages occur to you, pray send them to me, for you know the intention of the whole. To-day, for the first time, I have begun once more to work at it, and intend now to do so daily. When it is concluded, what is to come next, God will direct. Farewell, dear Schubring, bear me in your thoughts.—Your