Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
To Pastor Bauer, Beszig.
Leipzig, December 9th, 1835.
I received your kind letter here, on the very day when the christening in your family was to take place, on my return from Berlin, where I had gone in the hope of alleviating my Mother’s grief, immediately after the loss of my Father. So I received the intelligence of your happiness, on again crossing the threshold of my empty room, when I felt for the first time in my inmost being, what it is to suffer the most painful and bitter anguish. Indeed the wish which of all others every night recurred to my mind, was that I might not survive my loss, because I so entirely clung to my Father, or rather still cling to him, that I do not know how I can now pass my life, for not only have I to deplore the loss of a father (a sorrow which of all others from my childhood I always thought the most acute), but also that of my best and most perfect friend during the last few years, and my instructor in art and in life.
It seemed to me so strange, reading your letter, which breathed only joy and satisfaction, calling on me to rejoice with you on your future prospects, at the moment when I felt that my past was lost and gone for ever; but I thank you for wishing me, though so distant, to become your guest at the christening; and though my name may make a graver impression now than you probably thought, I trust that impression will only be a grave, and not a painful one, to you and your wife; and when, in later years, you tell your child of those whom you invited to his baptism, do not omit my name from your guests, but say to him that one of them on that day recommenced his life afresh,—though in another sense, with new purposes and wishes, and with new prayers to God.
My Mother is well, and bears her sorrow with such composure and dignity that we can all only wonder and admire, and ascribe it to her love for her children, and her wish for their happiness. As for myself, when I tell you that I strive to do my duty and thus to win my Father’s approval now as I always formerly did, and devote to the completion of “St. Paul,” in which he took such pleasure, all the energies of my mind, to make it as good as I possibly can; when I say that I force myself to the performance of my duties here, not to pass quite unprofitably these first days of sorrow, when to be perfectly idle is most consonant to one’s feelings; that, lastly, the people here are most kind and sympathizing, and endeavour to make life as little painful to me as they can,—you know the aspect of my inner and outer life at this moment. Farewell.
To Ferdinand Hiller.
Leipzig, January 24th, 1836.
My dear Ferdinand,