I can quite imagine what a bright, lively finale they would make. He also gave me a good description and analysis of the Andante in B flat; but, after all, it will be still better to hear it. Do not expect too much from the compositions I shall bring with me. You will be sure to find frequent traces of moodiness, which I can only shake off slowly and by dint of an effort. I often feel as if I had never composed at all, and had to learn everything over again; now, however, I have got into better trim, and my last things will sound better.
Nice it was, too, that your last letter really found me, as you said it should, alone and in the quiet of my room, composing to my heart’s content; and now I only wish that my letter may find you at home on a quiet evening, with your dear ones well and happy around you. We will see whether I am as lucky at wishing as you were. I am in a hurry and must end. I had but half an hour for my letter, and that beautiful picture has taken up all my time; besides, I have nothing further to say but this: I wish you joy now and hereafter, and may we soon meet again. My friends here send their kindest remembrances and congratulations. They are all well but my father, who suffers constantly from his eyes, and is in consequence much depressed; this reacts upon us, and we pray that there may soon be a change for the better. My sister and I just now make a great deal of music, every Sunday morning with accompaniment; and I have just received from the bookbinders a big grass-green volume of “Moscheles,” and next time we are going to play your Trio. Farewell, farewell, and remain happy.
Yours,
F. Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Berlin, Feb. 27, 1833.
Dear Mrs. Moscheles,—Although I can send you but a few lines to-day, I want to offer you my congratulations, and tell you that I enter heart and soul into your joy at the happy event. How pleased I am to think I shall soon see the little stranger, and that he will bear my name! Do wait till I come, that I may accept your first invitation, and be present in person at the christening. I shall certainly hurry as much as I can, and arrive as soon as possible. I am glad, too, that the new arrival is a boy. He must become a musician; and may all such things as we wish to do and cannot attain be reserved for him! Or if not, it matters little, for he will become a good man, and that is the main point. To be sure, I see already how his two grown-up sisters, Misses Emily and Serena, will tyrannize over him when he is about fourteen years old. He will have to put up with a good deal,—his arms will be voted too long, his coat too short, and his voice wretched. But presently he will become a man and patronize them, doing them many a good turn, making himself generally useful, and submitting to the boredom of many an evening party as their chaperon. I dare say you have somewhat (or should I say greatly) resented my epistolary shortcomings; but do pardon me this once, and I promise to improve, particularly in London, where I can be my own postman and improvise my questions and answers; but I will reform, anyhow.
Kindest messages from my sisters and parents. We all rejoice at the birth of the son.
I must now begin the last movement of my Symphony;[17] it gets into my fingers, spoils my letters, and takes up my time. Excuse, therefore, these hasty lines; how they are meant, you know.