Soden, near Frankfort-a.-M., July 17th, 1844.
My dearest Friend,
I found all my family well, and we had a joyful meeting when I arrived here on Saturday, in health and happiness, after a very rapid journey. Cécile looks so well again,—tanned by the sun, but without the least trace of her former indisposition; my first glance told this when I came into the room, but to this day I cannot cease rejoicing afresh every time that I look at her. The children are as brown as Moors, and play all day long in the garden. I employed yesterday and the day before entirely in recovering from my great fatigue, in sleeping and eating,—I did not a little in that way, and so I am myself again now, and I take one of the sheets of paper that Cécile painted for me to write to you. Once more I thank you from my very heart for the past happy time,—all that is good and imperishable in it comes from you; so I feel most grateful to you, and pray continue to love me, as I shall you so long as I live.
I am sitting here at the open window, looking into the garden at the children, who are playing with their “dear Johann.”[74] The omnibus to Königstein passes this twice every day. We have early strawberries for breakfast, at two we dine, have supper at half-past eight in the evening, and by ten we are all asleep. Hoffmann von Fallersleben is here, and paid me a visit yesterday. All those who are entitled to do so, wear a bit of ribbon in their button-holes, and are called “Geheimrath;” all the world talking of Prussia and blaming her,—in fact they speak of nothing else. The country is covered with pear-trees and apple-trees, so heavy with fruit that they are all propped up; then the blue hills, and the windings of the Maine and the Rhine; the confectioner, from whom you can buy thread and shirt-buttons; the well-spring No. 18, which is also called the Champagne Spring; the Herr Medicinalrath Thilenius; the list of visitors, which comes out every Saturday, as ‘Punch’ does with you; the walking-post, who, before going to Frankfort, calls as he passes to ask what we want, and next day brings me my linen back; the women who sell cherries, with whom my little four-year-old Paul makes a bargain, or sends them away, just as he pleases; above all, the pure Rhenish air,—this is familiar to all, and I call it Germany!
To Paul Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Soden, July 19th, 1844.
My dear Brother,
I am once more on German ground and soil; well, fresh, and happy at home, having found all my family in the best health possible; and we now pass our days pleasantly here, in this most lovely country.
My visit to England was glorious; I never was anywhere received with such universal kindness as on this occasion, and I had more music in these two months than elsewhere in two years. My A minor symphony twice, the “Midsummer Night’s Dream” three times, “St. Paul” twice, the trio twice; the last evening of my stay in London the “Walpurgis Nacht,” with quite wonderful applause; besides these, the variations for two performers on the piano, the quartett twice, the D major and E minor quartett twice, various songs without words, Bach’s D minor concerto twice, and Beethoven’s G major concerto. These are some of the pieces which I played in public. Then, in addition, the direction of all the Philharmonic and other concerts, the innumerable parties, the publication of “Israel in Egypt,” which I worked at for the Handel Society, and revised from the manuscript; and in the midst of all this the composition of the overture to “Athalia,” which, being excessively troublesome, was no slight task.[75]
You can gather from this how gay and stirring my life was. My chief aim—to do a service to the Philharmonic Society—succeeded beyond all expectation; it is the universal opinion that they have not had such a season for years past. This, to be sure, does not cure the radical evil which I this time amply experienced, and which, must prevent the Society continuing to prosper—the canker in its constitution—musical rotten boroughs, etc. But more of this and many other points when we meet. One thing I must also mention, which I regretted chiefly on your account. I was invited to go to Dublin, to be made a Doctor by the University there, and Morgan John O’Connell wished to give me a letter to his uncle in prison; but I could not accept it, on account of the short time, and the intense excitement of such a journey, in five days. The thought of the great pleasure you would have felt in my doing so was constantly present with me, and I gave up the idea with sincere regret. What a strange contrast this quiet little spot forms to all the previous immense excitement! Here a walk of ten minutes brings you to the heights of the Taunus, with a view over the valleys of the Maine and Rhine, as far as Frankfort, Worms, and Mayence. Here I can look all around for days and days, and require nothing further, and yet do as much, or, in fact, more, than in the midst of the excitement in London.—Your