The kind and amiable feelings which your letter of yesterday testified towards me, caused me great pleasure, and I beg to thank you very sincerely and truly. Although I entirely agree with you that my choruses to ‘Antigone’ will furnish an opportunity for a number of unfair and malignant attacks, still I cannot meet these unpleasant probabilities by the means which you are so good as to propose to me. I have always made it an inviolable rule, never to write on any subject connected with music, even in newspapers, nor either directly or indirectly to prompt any article to be written on my own compositions; and although I am well aware how often this must be both a temporary and sensible disadvantage, still I cannot deviate from a resolution which I have strictly followed out under all circumstances. I decline, therefore, accepting your obliging offer; but I beg you will believe that my gratitude for the friendly intentions you expressed remains the same; and in the hope of soon finding an opportunity to repeat this assurance in person, I am, etc.[53]
To Professor Köstlin, Tübingen.
Berlin, December 15th, 1841.
... When I was lately in society, I was seated next a lady at supper who spoke the South German dialect, and seemed at home in Stuttgart, so I thought I would ask her if she knew anything of Tübingen, and inquired about Professor Köstlin. She said she did not know him, but one of her acquaintances had written to her that he had been recently betrothed. This was the first happy news. She did not know the name of the bride, but so far she remembered, that she was from Munich, and a fine musical genius. I had instantly a presentiment. I vowed it must be Josephine Lang. She thought it was another name; but she would look at the letter when she went home. Next morning I got a note. “The bride of Herr Köstlin is Josephine Lang after all, and he has been recently in Munich, and then in Stuttgart with her,” etc. Had it not been for this last piece of intelligence, I would have written to you instantly, to offer you both my congratulations, and to express my most heartfelt joy. Now I have got your welcome letter, and the details of the piece of good news the South German lady told me; first, then, receive my thanks for it, and then accept my fervent prayers for a blessing on your fortunate union, my wishes for health for you and your bride (happiness and every other good you already have), and my cordial, most cordial sympathy in all connected with you both, now and for the future. Whatever concerns you, concerns me also. If I were not the most miserable correspondent in the world, I should have written to your bride six months ago, to thank her for the two books of songs she published. I have done so in thought twenty times at least. It is long since I have seen any new music so genial, or which affected me so deeply, as these charming songs; their appearance was equally unexpected and welcome, not only to me, but to all those whose predilections are in accordance with my own, who participate in my love of music, and feel in a similar manner with myself. I sent my Sister a copy at the time from Leipzig, but when it arrived she had already bought one, without our ever having corresponded on the subject. The “poem” in F sharp major, is, I think, best of all, and the “Lenau Meer,” in C major, and the “Frühlingskinder” in E, and the “Goethe’schen geliebten Bäume” in D; I also think the “Blumauer’sche” in F major 3/8 wonderfully lovely. Nothing more charming could be devised than the happy way in which they prattle together, one after the other telling their tale, and all so delicate and sportive, and a little amorous too. In so many passages in both books, I thought I heard Josephine Lang’s voice, though it is a long time now since I have heard her sing; but there are many inflections peculiar to her, and which she inherits from the grace of God, and when such a turn occurred in the music, she made a little turn with her head; and in fact the whole form, and voice, and manner, were once more placed before my eyes by these songs. I intended to have written all this to her, and to have thanked her a thousand times in my name, and in that of all my friends. Now this will come sadly in the background, for our cordial congratulations must take place of everything else, and prevent any other topic being alluded to. But when you tell her of these, tell her at the same time what pleasure she caused us all.
For Heaven’s sake, urge her to continue composing. It is really your duty towards us all, who continually long and look for good new music. She once sent me a collection of the music of various composers, with some of her own, saying that among so many master-works she hoped I would view her attempts with indulgence, etc. Oh, Gemini! how petty many of these chefs-d’œuvre appear beside her fresh music! So, as I said, instigate her strongly to new compositions.
If I have still a wish to form, it is that your blissful betrothal mood may be continued in marriage; that is, may you be like me, who feel every day of my life that I cannot be sufficiently thankful to God for my happiness.
Do not punish me for my laziness as a correspondent. I really cannot contrive to write a tolerably sensible letter to-day; still, you must write to me from time to time. If it were by music I should not complain, for your music is speech, though probably you have other things to think of.
And now farewell for to-day, and remember kindly your devoted
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.