what we all had at heart,—what every one of us would have liked to show in word and deed, if the very showing and saying had not been our weak point, though he will nowhere find it more strongly developed,—the most heartfelt reverence and love for himself and his work, and the most sincere gratitude for the immense enjoyment he has procured us. It is still our daily talk; and even little Carl[46] never passes a day without asking Papa, “How does my uncle Moschenes play?” Then I try to imitate it with my fists in A flat, six-eight time as well as I can, but the result is miserable. Now comes a song.[47] ...
I will give the pen to my wife, and only add love to the dear children, to whom pray remember me. This letter is for Moscheles too. How glad I was to hear of his successes in Prague, I need not say. I trust he thinks of us as we do of him, and that we may soon hear of his safe arrival. Farewell, dear Mrs. Moscheles.
Ever yours,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, March 14, 1841.
Dear Moscheles,—Just as I was sitting down to answer your kindest of letters (dated the 9th inst.), in comes bright No. 2, with its graphic account of the Taylor evening, and its other capital and vivid descriptions. David must take you my answer to both, and my very best thanks for the pleasure they have given me. He leaves to-morrow. There is no need once more to recommend him, his wife, and their little daughter to you and yours. You know and appreciate him and his art already, and are sure to contribute more than your share towards making his stay agreeable. Mind you don’t get too fond of him, and keep him there altogether; we Germans could not allow that, for men and musicians of his stamp are not as thickly sown out here as you might fancy. So make as much of him as you like, but send him back well preserved afterwards.
And now to return to your two delightful letters. The first contained the enclosures from Broadley and instructions in reference to the German publication; they shall be punctually carried out. Please ask him to mention on the titlepage of the English edition that Simrock of Bonn is the German publisher. May I beg you to communicate this to him without delay? Make my excuses to him (and yourself) for not having sent the short prelude. I would gladly do so; but really, with the best will in the world, I could not write a short prelude to suit that piece without altering the whole form and giving it a pretentious coloring, which it should not have. I would rather leave it to the organist to tumble his fingers about at random, making it long or short as he likes, and as rich or poor as he can afford.
I do wish I could hear your Psalm. You know how much I should enjoy it. But how could I venture to make suggestions, or even to think them, when I am so full of the beauties I find in your work, and so thankful, as we all have reason to be, for what you give us in so full a measure? At any rate, you know that I, for one, feel deeply grateful for the bright products of your art; and I trust you will always let me have the new things you write, and particularly that you will not let me wait long for the Psalm and the two new “Studies.”
According to your kind permission, I have put together a book of your Songs, selected from the ten you sent me through Dr. Becker. Kistner required six for a book; so I chose the following: “Stumme Liebe,” by Probald; “Der Schmidt,” by Uhland; “Zuversicht,” by the Countess Hahn; “Das Reh,” by Uhland; “Im Herbst,” by Uhland; “Sakontala,” by Klingemann. The keys certainly follow in the maddest of ways,—F major, B major, and so on anyhow; but I have always found that not a soul thanks you for the loveliest sequence in keys, and that it is rather a change from slow to fast, from serious to lively, that is particularly in demand. So pray excuse this fricassee of sharps and flats.