Leipzig, Sept 5, 1835.
My dear Moscheles,—I hope and trust nothing may occur to prevent our once more spending a few happy days together. Your concert is being arranged, and so I shall have the twofold pleasure of seeing you and hearing your more important new works, and I need not tell you how much I shall enjoy that.
Your search after flowers in the arid regions of modern composition makes me quite melancholy. It is so disheartening to see how colorless the heroes of our day are. Sometimes it makes me feel inclined to think too indulgently of myself; at other times again the very reverse, and I feel thoroughly discouraged. Who is Mr. Elkamp who is writing a “Saint Paul”? Have you seen anything of his, and has it any merit or not?
If the Hamburgers look upon your appearance as an intermezzo between Chopin and Kalkbrenner, let them go to Jericho. I would soon put things into plain language, and ask them whether they consider the joint an intermezzo between mixed pickles, hashes, and fish patties, or whether it is not rather the other way. A comparison of that kind would, I believe, be most likely to come home to them. Kalkbrenner is the little fish patty.
Have you heard or seen anything of Lindenau the violinist? The last time I heard him, in Düsseldorf, I was exceedingly pleased with his playing. If you meet him, please remember me kindly to him, and ask whether he would come and play here. Good violinists seem to be scarce, and I should be glad if he would let us hear him soon. I am not quite clear as to the state of musical matters here. There seems to be plenty of music performed; but how much for the love of the thing, remains to be seen. That is, however, a vast subject, and we must discuss it accordingly, and rediscuss it, and say wise things about it; and may all that come to pass soon!
Just now Hauser comes in, and I tell him of my beautiful joke on Kalkbrenner; but he will have it that K. is more like an indigestible sausage, and I am to tell you so with his best love. Your kind offer of services reminds me of a favor you can do me on your way here. Klingemann wrote me the other day that he had had some money from you for me, and that you have a balance in my favor from Novello’s payments for the “Melodies.” If you could let my father have this on your way through Berlin, you would oblige me. Excuse my troubling you. I must end, or my letter won’t be in time. Pardon these hurried, good-for-nothing lines. Be sure you bring all your newest compositions with you; mind you do, it will be such a treat for me. And now, best love to wife and children, and good-by. Forget not
Yours,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
On the 1st of October Moscheles arrived in Leipzig; there, as prearranged, he met his mother. The ten days passed in her company and in musical and friendly intercourse with Mendelssohn are amongst the happiest recorded in the diary. On the 2d of October he says: “I passed the evening with Felix; his friend Schleinitz, a lawyer, came in; he has a lovely tenor, and sang some of Felix’s songs.[30] Then Felix and I played my ‘Hommage à Handel’ for two performers; all my Studies he knows by heart, and he plays them beautifully.”