... What you write me about your increased business rejoices me much. You know how often we have talked over the subject, but I cannot share your sentiment, that any one profession is preferable to another. I always think that whatever an intelligent man gives his heart to, and really understands, must become a noble vocation; and I only personally dislike those in whom there is nothing personal, and in whom all individuality disappears; as, for example, the military profession in peace, of which we have instances here. But with regard to the others, it is more or less untrue. When one profession is compared with another, the one is usually taken in its naked reality, and the other in the most beautiful ideality, and then the decision is quickly made. How easy it is for an artist to feel such reality in his sphere, and yet esteem practical men happy who have studied and known the different relations of men towards each other, and who help others to live by their own life and progress, and at once see the fruits of all that is tangible, useful, and benevolent instituted by them. In one respect, too, an upright man has the hardest stand to make, in knowing that the public are more attracted by outward show than by truth. But individual failures and strife must not be allowed to have their growth in the heart; there must be something to occupy and to elevate it far above these isolated external things. This speaks strongly in favour of my opinion, for it is the best part of every calling, and common to all; to yours, to mine, and to every other. Where is it that you find beauty when I am working at a quartett or a symphony? Merely in that portion of myself that I transfer to it, or can succeed in expressing; and you can do this in as full a measure as any man, in your defence of a culprit, or in a case of libel, or in any one thing that entirely engrosses you, and that is the great point. If you can only give utterance to your inmost thoughts, and if these inmost thoughts become more and more worthy of being expressed, ... all the rest is indifferent. I thank you, therefore, for the report you give me of your occupations, and hope you will often send me equally good tidings.—Your
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
To I. Moscheles, London.
Leipzig, October 28th, 1838.
My dear Friend,
A thousand thanks for your continued friendship towards me, and also for occasionally assuring me of it; a letter from you cheers me for a long time to come, and what you write of yourself and others is always so fertile, and as much yourself, as if I heard you speaking, and were agreeing with you, and rejoicing in doing so. If I were a little more mild, and a little more just, and a little more judicious, and a good many other things a little more, perhaps I, too, might then have a judgment equal to yours; but I am so soon irritated, and become unreasonable, whereas you love what is good, and yet what is bad appears to you worth amendment.
On the occasion of Clara Novello’s concert, a vast amount of rivalry, and bad artistic feeling, was brought to the light of day, which I neither wish to exist by day, nor by night, nor indeed in the world at all. In fact, when really good musicians condescend to depreciate each other, and to be malicious, and to sting in secret, I would sooner renounce music altogether, or rather, I should say, musicians; it is such petty, tinkering work, and yet it seems to be the fashion! formerly, I thought it was so only with bunglers, but I see it is the same with all. A straightforward character alone is a protection against such an example, and a straightforward fellow, who despises it. Yet this serves to endear goodness to us still more, and we rejoice doubly in the contrast, and in good art, and in good artists, and in letters from you; and thus the world is by no means so bad after all.
To Pastor Julius Schubring, Dessau.
Leipzig, November 2nd, 1838.