Dreyschock is a young pianist from Prague, who must have practised like mad for several years, thus acquiring remarkable technical qualities and incredible powers of endurance, as for instance in his octave passages; but he is quite devoid of taste and musical culture. He plays some pieces so admirably that you fancy yourself in presence of a great artist, but immediately afterwards something else so poorly that you have to change your mind. The question is, Will he improve? Such as he is, he won’t go far; but he has fine means at his disposal, if he will only use them; and I hope and trust he may.
If in that performance of my Psalm at the Academy, they got into trouble with the Quintet it is lucky I was not there; for that is my favorite movement, and false notes make me savage.
Our concert season will close on the 21st instead of the 15th of March, as intended; and that obliges me, much to my regret, to abandon the idea of going to England this spring. I have to be in Düsseldorf early in May, at Whitsuntide, to conduct the Festival; so I must once more postpone the pleasure of introducing my wife to you and yours. Afterwards I shall probably spend a few months on the Rhine and then return here. What are your plans for the summer?
Another request: Let Cramer & Addison (or rather Addison & Beale) know that I will draw the money for the Overture about the middle of May. I would not trouble you, but they have to be advised in advance. Really my whole letter is made up of nothing but so many requests and so many thanks!
I wish the devil himself (or, for a change, ten thousand of them) would take the English custom of putting everything into the papers. Now, I am supposed to have written to the Philharmonic that I know of no German singer to compare with Miss Novello or Miss Shaw; the story is making the rounds of the German papers, the journalists repeating it a piacere. You can just fancy what a precious darling the German singers think me under the circumstances; and all that, when I never wrote anything of the kind. And now, my paper is full; so good-by! Take my thanks, preserve me your friendship, and—one more request—write soon; your letters do make me so happy. Kindest remembrances from self and wife to you and your wife, and may she ever remain the true and kind friend she is! Love to the children.
Yours,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, April 4, 1839.
My dear Friend,—How happy I was to get your “Concerto Pastorale,” you know by my last letter. If I did not write about it again, it was because, though I had played it and got acquainted with it to a certain extent, I had yet many technical difficulties to master, and much more to study, before I could arrive at a free enjoyment of the work. And so it remained until I rehearsed it with orchestra, when for the first time I heard it properly, and began to understand it. Since then it has, if possible, grown still dearer to me; and I am sure it will become one of my favorites amongst your works. Every time I play it I like it better and better. We had two regular orchestral rehearsals, repeating the whole piece, as well as single movements. And so, when the evening came, it went very well and correctly, and you would have been satisfied,—that is, with the orchestra, not with me, I am afraid; for that night I was the victim of a dreadful cold (which, by the way, I have not got rid of yet), and at one time—it was just at the beginning of the Solo in the Adagio—a spasmodic fit of coughing threatened to bring me to a dead stop. So my playing was not as spirited as I should have liked it to be; but I got through it pretty correctly, excepting the octave passage,—some parts coming out better than they had ever done whilst I was studying them. The public applauded tremendously, and entered into the spirit of the work with more sympathy and feeling than I should have given them credit for. You know I am not generally an admirer of the public; but this time they did try to get at the meaning of the piece, and some of them had really arrived at a right conclusion and understanding. A desire was expressed on all sides to hear it again. But unluckily, this is just the end of our concert season; and now comes the annual fair, and our unmusical time, and I shall not play again here till next autumn. How long can I keep the parts? When will you want them in London? And now, my dear friend, once more a thousand thanks for the pleasure you have given us all; thanks for the fine composition you have contributed to our concerts; thanks in particular for having intrusted it to me.