October 3.—“Rehearsal for the first Subscription Concert of the season. Mendelssohn appeared for the first time at the head of the Leipzig orchestra. He conducted with befitting dignity, exercising authority without pedantry, and was most cordially seconded by the members of the orchestra.”
In addition to Moscheles’s diary we have his letters written from Leipzig to his wife, who, with her children, had remained in Hamburg on a visit to her relatives.[31] Moscheles writes of meeting “a retiring but interesting young man, Robert Schumann,” and of “the admirable and unaffected playing of Clara Wieck,” afterwards Madame Schumann. He shows us Mendelssohn’s study, with “the bookcase,—a perfect storehouse of musical scores;” the writing-table, on which he notices the silver inkstand presented to Mendelssohn by the Philharmonic Society; the engravings on the wall; a delightful litter of scores and other music on the piano; “still,” he says, “cleanliness and neatness prevailing everywhere.” Then again we follow the two friends to the keyboard of the Erard, which stands in the middle of the room. They play, together and alternately, their latest compositions: some “Songs without Words,” Moscheles’s Concertos (Fantastique and Pathétique), and Mendelssohn’s Overture, “Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage.” “Last night,” says Moscheles, “we played my Overture and his Octet together; it went swimmingly, and when we parted he lent me his cloak, for fear I should catch cold after so many hot notes. This morning he was rewarded with an extra piece of that cake my mother brought from Prague for us.”
The above-mentioned cake, originally intended for the expectant family in Hamburg, was destined to be sacrificed to the appetites of a small party of belated travellers. Moscheles, Mendelssohn, and his sister Madame Dirichlet with her family, had travelled together from Leipzig to Berlin, and on arriving at half-past one o’clock in the morning they had found the Mendelssohn house in deep slumbers and the larder closed; it was there the cake met its pleasant fate. “Pleasanter still,” says Moscheles, “was the awaking next morning. The meeting with the Mendelssohn family was quite touching; we embraced all round, and Felix’s happiness and overflowing spirits were quite childlike. As for myself, I was received as affectionately as if I belonged to the family.”
Though at first reluctant to delay his return to Hamburg, Moscheles finally yielded to the kindly pressure of his friends and remained with them.
Of his concert Moscheles wrote a glowing account; Mendelssohn indorses it in the following letter:—
Leipzig, Oct. 11, 1835.
I cannot forego the pleasure, dear Mrs. Moscheles, of sending you an account of the events of the last two days, although necessarily a short one, as I am beset by professional and non-professional visitors. It has really been too delightful, and such a pity you were not here to enjoy the treat Moscheles gave us all. Those two days were indeed thoroughly musical ones, with everybody full of excitement and genuine enthusiasm.
Let me begin with the concert of the day before yesterday; you know the programme, and you also know how Moscheles plays. Well, then, directly after his “Concerto Fantastique” the shouts of applause began, and the noise lasted throughout the evening, and continued at yesterday’s rehearsal, so that this evening’s concert promises to be one of the most glorious, the Leipzig people being half crazed. Besides, you know, the room was the most crowded we have had for years; but what pleased me most was the intense interest and delight which pervaded the audience.
When we got to the end of our duet,—and it did go well, I assure you,—the most deafening acclamations broke forth, so that we played the last eight or ten bars without anybody, not even ourselves, being able to hear whether we did it correctly; nor did they leave off clapping and cheering till they had us out again, to perform a second duet—of graceful bows. And now you may fancy how madly they went on after Moscheles’s “extempore playing.” It is true he produced some things bordering on witchcraft, which to this day I have not been able to understand, although he pretends they were nothing; but it was quite delightful to see how excited and appreciative the audience were. An English lady, rather blue, wanted to be introduced, and gave vent to her enthusiasm, whilst a score of Leipzig ladies of all colors waited for her to make room. (And here is the proper place to inform you that Moscheles was struck on two separate occasions by the beauty of a Leipzig lady, and each time informed me of the fact, in a discreet whisper; whereupon I threatened to let you know, which I hereby do.) Well, then, the Leipzig ladies came to the balustrade of the orchestra, and Moscheles made them a bow; then came the dignitaries of this place; then one or other of the art critics, who gave detailed reasons for their praise; and lastly the committee of our concerts (consisting of twelve gentlemen—not one lady), to beg that they might hear the Overture to “Joan of Arc” once more at this evening’s concert. A work of that kind has too many novel and striking points to be at once understood by band and audience, so that we look forward with delight to its repetition to-day. They have now played it four days in succession, and it will go to perfection; even at yesterday’s rehearsal it seemed like a new piece, and fresh beauties were brought out. The duet, too, has to be repeated by desire; and as Moscheles had already promised to play his Concerto in G minor (“Blue Devils”),[32] we shall, I think, have a splendid night of it.