In short, I showed that I was well disposed to accept the situation, but should require the most unqualified support throughout, otherwise I could not efficiently perform the duties of the office,—it being a public one. I hope you agree with me on this point, for though money and ready complaisance are indeed of no small value, still neither are sufficient, without that entire tranquillity and security about the future, which can now be given if they are in earnest in the matter. I can assure you that there was no undue particularity in my words, but I am certain you will not blame me for going on sure grounds, before giving up such a position as my present one.
I considered it also my duty before writing to Massow, to communicate the circumstance under the seal of the strictest secrecy to my friends here, Schleinitz and David, who are quite of my opinion, that I ought to leave this, however much they regret it, if my wishes are fulfilled with regard to a defined position. At the same time, I purpose, in the course of a few days, to make known to our Concert Director, and Government President, that I have received such an offer (without naming the place), and that it is probable I may accept it. Perhaps you may not approve of this, but I feel I cannot act otherwise. If my negotiations with Massow were to terminate by our agreeing, without my having given any hint of such a transaction, it would show a want of good feeling on my part, and, indeed, in my present circumstances, a want of common gratitude. But this is in fact a mere matter of form, for it is not probable that they will for a moment think of entering into competition with the recent overtures from Berlin, and yet I delay the announcement from day to day, because such a step must be final.—Your
Felix.
To Paul Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, Jan. 2nd, 1841.
Dear Paul,
Receive my heartfelt good wishes, and may God grant us all a happy new year! Now I have one earnest request to make. Do not allow any misunderstanding between Massow and me, to impair that delightful and perfect harmony between us which always rejoices me, and makes me so happy. I will not say, let us not become more mistrustful, but not even more reserved towards each other. Since the great sacrifice that you unhesitatingly made for my sake in coming here, I confess I am in great anxiety on this subject, and it makes me very uneasy when I think it possible that you may be dissatisfied with me, for not being prepared to accept your opinion at once—angry, I do not think you will be, but as I have already said, do not permit anything whatever to be changed between you and me,—promise me this; you know how much I have at heart our being able to live together at some future day; but if we were only to pass a few untroubled years together, and I were then to go on my way in vexation, that would be worse than it is now, and I would gladly avoid this. I tell you so, because in your letter you urge me so strongly fairly to speak out, as if I had not in my answer to Massow already spoken out on many points, more, perhaps, than I ought to have done. You also wish to persuade me to go now to Berlin, but you will soon be convinced, that this winter, such a thing is impossible. I have five subscription concerts, and three extra concerts to direct in January, and in the beginning of March, Bach’s “Passion,” of which not a single note is known here, and I certainly cannot get away during the time of the concerts, without injuring them. But independent of this, what should I do in Berlin? The statutes of a new Academy are better arranged by writing than verbally, and from the tenor of Massow’s letters, the affair does not seem so far advanced, as to permit of its being definitively settled in the course of a couple of days; at least, not in the sense that we mutually wish; so, as I said, dear Paul, promise me, never under any circumstances, to be displeased with me.
I told Massow in a letter to-day, that I should be happy to explain my views with regard to reorganizing the Musical Academy, either to him, or to Eichhorn; for this purpose he has only to send me the statutes hitherto in force, and the composition of the classes, of which I am entirely ignorant, and also say how far the modifications are to be carried, whether to the extent of a radical change, or merely a reform; this I must learn of course, or I should not know what to say; I will gladly devote my time and efforts to the mere possibility of our once more living together, but I must confess, that since Massow’s last letter, such a possibility seems even more distant than I myself thought. It sounds all so different from what they commissioned you to say to me when you came here, and if it begins in such a way, no doubt the sequel will be still worse. The salary they offer is certainly handsome and liberal, but if they in return expect me to accept an unlimited obligation to work, that also would be a change in their proposals, and no compensation to me. The salary is the only point on which Massow spoke in a decided manner to me, and my position is too fortunate for mere money to influence my views. All that you told me here about a rota between the different directors, and the duties of the Capellmeister of the Royal Chapel, and of the engagement of other foreign musicians,—not a word of this was brought forward; on the contrary, Massow writes to me, that he is glad I have declared myself satisfied with the title and the salary, which is totally opposed to the sense of my previous letter, in which I expressed a wish to know my duties, before I could explain my intentions. Indeed, even if the alteration in the musical class were to be entered into, and carried through exactly according to my wishes, I scarcely know (as the title is in question) whether I should quite like to go to Berlin as “Director of the Musical Class,” which is by no means in good odour with musicians at present. I can say all this to you without incurring the suspicion of a fondness for titles, for what annoys me is their drawing back in all their proposals; perhaps I am mistaken; at all events, I hope in my letter to Massow you will find no trace of the dissatisfaction which I have frankly expressed to you. I shall assist in establishing the new regulations as well and as firmly as possible; in any event, good service will be done to the cause, so far as I can accomplish it, and if the result is to be satisfactory, the affair must first be made clear; not merely in reference to my personal acceptance, but because it is right and desirable for the affair itself, and in order to enable any good musician (not merely myself) to interest themselves in it hereafter; for now the question again recurs, whether I, or some other efficient musician shall be placed at the head, and all the other questions become mere secondary considerations.
For Heaven’s sake! tell me, how came you to be reading that abominable thing of Diderot’s? He was ashamed of it later in life, but the traces of his genius are to be discovered even in this muddy pool. I may possibly feel more mildly disposed towards him just now, because two pietistic works were sent to me yesterday from Berlin,—so gloomy, such a perfect type of the worst time of the priesthood, that I am almost inclined to welcome the French with their audacity, and Voltaire with his broom. Perhaps you know one of these? It is called “Die Passion, ein kirchliches Festspiel;” it is written in doggerel rhymes, and is the most wretched trash I have lately read,—Heine included. The other is a criticism written by a person on his own oratorio, in which he exhorts the people to piety and frequent communion, and says no one is entitled to pronounce any opinion on his music, who does not listen to it in the spirit of true piety, and in faith. Alas! alas!
Remember my first request in this new year, and love me as much as ever.—Your