Sir,
My best thanks for your obliging letter, which contains much that is really far too kind and flattering about myself and my music. Gladly, in compliance with your friendly invitation, would I at some future time come to express my thanks to you personally, and to play to you as you wish me to do. Since we met in Dessau I have learnt a good deal more, and have made progress. But you must not compare my playing with my music; I feel quite embarrassed by such an idea, and I am certainly not the man to prevent people worshipping the golden calf, as it is called in the fashion of the day. Moreover, I believe that this mode will soon pass away, even without opposition. To be sure, a new one is sure to start up; on this account therefore it seems to me best to pursue one’s own path steadily, and especially to guard against an evil custom of the day, which is not included in those you name, but which however does infinite harm,—squandering and frittering away talents for the sake of outward show. This is a reproach which I might make to most of our present artists, and to myself also more than I could wish; I have no great inclination therefore to extend my travels, but rather to restrict them far more, in order to strive with greater earnestness for my own improvement instead of the good opinion of others.
I conclude by thanking you for your friendly letter, and pray remember kindly your obedient
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
To Paul Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, July 21st, 1843.
Dear Brother,
I had almost hoped to be able to answer your letter in person, for I was very nearly taking a journey to Berlin again. Herr von Massow has sent me a communication connected with that tedious everlasting affair, which irritated me so much that it almost made me ill, and I do not feel right yet. In my first feeling of anger, I wished to go to Berlin to speak to you and break off the whole affair; but I prefer writing, and so I am now writing to you. Instead of receiving the assent to the proposals on which we had agreed in the interview of the 10th,[67] Herr von Massow sends me a commission to arrange for orchestra and chorus, without delay, the chorale, “Herr Gott, Dich loben wir,” the longest chorale and the most tiresome work which I ever attempted; and the day after I had finished it and sent it off, I receive an official document which I must sign before the assent of the King can be solicited; when I had signed it, the others present at that conference would also subscribe their names. In this deed all the stipulations are correctly stated, but six or eight additional clauses are written on the margin, not one syllable of which had ever been named during the conference, invalidating the whole intention of the above stipulations, and placing myself and the Institute in the most entire subservience to Herr von Küstner,—and in short, showing in the clearest light all the difficulties to which I formerly alluded, and the existence of which Herr von Massow denied. Among other things, it is said, the appointment of the orchestra for all church music is to be devolved on the theatrical music direction; before every concert there must be an application made to the General Intendancy, whether the day, which according to our agreement was to be settled once for all at the beginning of the winter, is to continue the same or be altered, etc.; all things of which not one syllable had been alluded to in the conference. As I told you, I fretted myself till I was quite ill about it. Remembering your words, I thought it the most judicious plan to write direct to the King, and break off the affair. After two days’ consideration, I did not think I was justified in doing so; I therefore wrote to Herr von Massow, why and wherefore I could not give my signature, requesting him to inform me whether the King intended to carry out our former agreement. If he did not feel disposed to do so, or if he, Herr von Massow, considered it necessary to insert new clauses in the agreement, I should then consider the affair impracticable, and must act accordingly. In the other view of the case, he knew that I was prepared to come; I was also to say how far I had got with “Œdipus.” I answered that in accordance with Tieck’s wish, I had arranged the “Midsummer Night’s Dream” with music, to be performed in the new palace; that I had also, by special commission from the King, written choruses,[68] and that I had not resumed the choruses of “Œdipus” since the previous autumn, because another Greek piece had been appointed to be performed. I said all this in a friendly manner, but I do assure you that the affair cost me four most angry, disturbed, and irksome days. If I could only have spoken to you for a single hour! I should have been glad to know whether you approved of my course, that is of my letter, or whether you would have preferred a short letter resigning the appointment. It is really too provoking that in all and everything the same spirit prevails; in this case too, all might be smoothed over and set to rights by a few words, and every moment I expect to hear them spoken, and then there would be a possibility of something good and new; but they are not spoken, and they are replaced by a thousand annoyances, and my head at last is so bewildered that I think I become almost as perverted and unnatural, as the whole affair is at last likely to turn out. Forgive me for causing you to have your share of annoyance, but now I have told you all—and enough. I have not been able to work during these days. To make up for this, I have done the “Jungfrau” for you in Indian ink; the mountain I think is excellent, but I have again utterly destroyed the pines in the foreground. I mean now, too, to resume your sonata.—Your
Felix.