'"Here is a gentleman who knows all about the new opera."'[ToList]
The acquaintance thus begun awakened a mutual regard in Mendelssohn and Benedict, for the latter shortly afterwards paid a second visit to the house. On this occasion he found Felix engaged in writing out some music, and inquired what it was. 'I am finishing my new quartet for piano and stringed instruments,' was the reply, gravely spoken, and without the least self-consciousness. Benedict glanced at the work in surprise. He did not know Mendelssohn yet. It was the 'First Quartet in C Minor,' which, later on, was published as 'Opus I.' 'And now,' said Felix, laying aside his pen, 'I will play to you to convince you how grateful I am for your kindness in playing to us last time.' He thereupon sat down and played with precision several of the airs from 'Der Freischütz' which Benedict had played on his previous visit. 'You see, I have not forgotten the pleasure you gave me,' he said, with a smile, as he rose from the piano. 'But now,' he added, as a new thought entered his mind, 'I want you to see the garden, please.' Down they went, and in a moment Mendelssohn had thrown off the musician's cloak, and was a boy again. With a bound he leapt over a high hedge, turned, and cleared it a second time, and then challenged his companion to a race. Another moment he burst out with a song, as if the open air had incited him to imitate the birds, and then, pointing to a favourite tree, he ran to it and climbed it like a squirrel.
These meetings took place in the summer of 1821, a year which brought much happiness to Felix, for ere it had drawn to a close he had found a new friend. When the autumn came round, Zelter announced that he was going to pay a visit of respect to his old friend and master, Goethe, the aged poet of Weimar, and he was willing to take Felix with him. Needless to say, Felix and his parents were equally delighted with the proposal. The boy had so often heard Zelter speak of Goethe, whose works, moreover, he was always quoting, that he felt he already loved the master almost as much as Zelter did himself. Goethe's house at Weimar was regarded as a shrine at which his countless admirers were wont to pay homage, even though their devotion often met with no further gratification than was to be derived from gazing at its walls or peeping into the grounds, which were sacred to the poet's footsteps. Hence the promise of an introduction to one who was the object of so much hero-worship stirred the heart of Felix to its depths, and filled his mind with reverential emotions such as few events could have had the power to awaken in one so sensible of what was due to a great and lofty intellect.
It was a bright November day when Zelter and his pupil set forth upon their journey. Both were looking forward to the meeting, though with somewhat different feelings. What Mendelssohn's feelings were we have tried to imagine, but Zelter was nursing within himself a certain pride and confidence in the prospect of introducing his favourite pupil to so keen a judge as Goethe, which he would not have revealed to that pupil for worlds. Felix's spirits, however, were so high on this occasion that Zelter had enough to do to satisfy all his questions without allowing his usually taciturn nature to relax under the sunshine of the boy's enthusiasm.
On arriving at Goethe's home they found the poet walking in his grounds. The meeting was simple and affectionate. Goethe greeted Felix with every show of kindness, and sent the boy to bed with an overflowing heart and a mind resolved upon cherishing the minutest details of this happy encounter. The next day he was to play to Goethe, and at an early hour of the morning he was sauntering in the grounds, awaiting the poet's arrival, and feasting his eyes upon the scenes which were the accustomed haunts of the author of 'Faust'; and then, selecting a sunny spot, he sat down to write a long letter home, full of description of the events of the previous day.
Nothing short of the severest of tests would satisfy Goethe of the truth of what Zelter had privately conveyed to him regarding his pupil's talents. Accordingly, sheet after sheet of manuscript music was selected by the poet from his store and placed upon the music-desk to be played by Felix at sight. The manner in which he performed his task, the ease with which he overcame the difficulties presented by penwork of various styles, and often far from clear, astonished and delighted the assembled company. But their manifestations of delight were far more pronounced when Felix, taking one of the airs which he had just played as a theme for extemporisation, exhibited in a most charming fashion, and with true musicianly feeling, the capacities of the subject for varied treatment. Still Goethe withheld his praise, and, interrupting the applause, declared that he had a final test to propose which, he jokingly warned Felix, would infallibly cause him to break down. Thus speaking, the poet placed on the desk a sheet of manuscript which at first sight was enough to strike terror and dismay into the stoutest heart, for it seemed to consist of nothing else than scratches and splotches of ink, interspersed with smudges. Mendelssohn glanced at it, and then, bursting into a laugh, exclaimed: 'What writing! How can it be possible to read such manuscript?' Suddenly he became serious, and bent to examine the writing more closely, Goethe looked triumphantly round at the company. 'Now, guess who wrote that!' he said. Zelter rose from his place beside the pianoforte, and, looking over Felix's shoulder, cried out: 'Why, it is Beethoven's writing! One can see that a mile off! He always writes as if he used a broomstick for a pen, and then wiped his sleeve over the wet ink!'
Mendelssohn could decipher the manuscript only by degrees, having to search the sheet to find the successive notes; but when he reached the end he exclaimed, 'Now I will play it to you,' and this time he played it through without a mistake. Upon this Goethe let him off, and rewarded him with some kind words of praise. Thenceforth, until the visit came to an end, Felix was called upon to play to the poet every day, and the two became fast friends. The old man treated the boy as if he were a son, laughed and joked with him, and was never so happy as when he was near. It was altogether a delightful visit, and Goethe would only part with Felix on the understanding that they should meet again very soon.
The following summer brought a new happiness to Felix, for it had been decided that the entire family should make a tour through Switzerland. In those days a journey of such length was an undertaking of much consequence, more especially when, as in this case, the family were accompanied by the children's tutor and the doctor, in addition to several servants. It was an essential part of the father's scheme of education that his children's minds should be widened by travel, and more particularly that they should make personal acquaintance with the classic ground of history—advantages which wealth enabled him to place at their command. It was with light spirits that the party set out on their journey, Felix keenly alive to every fresh scene or incident as it presented itself, and there were few of either that failed to leave their stamp upon his impressionable mind. To his insatiable curiosity must be attributed the adventure which befell him on the very first day of their travel. They had to change carriages at Potsdam, and when the horses had traversed three German miles of road from that town Felix was suddenly missed, and a brief colloquy elicited the melancholy fact that the boy had been left behind at Potsdam. The tutor thereupon turned back in one of the carriages, whilst the rest proceeded to the next stopping-place. In the course of an hour he returned with the truant seated by his side, dusty and footsore, but otherwise as fresh as when he had started. He had, it appeared, strayed from the party at Potsdam, and returned to the starting-place in time to see the carriages disappearing in the distance enveloped in a cloud of dust. He began to run, but seeing that he could not overtake them, he abated his speed, and determined to perform the journey to Brandenburg on foot. A little peasant-girl joined him. They broke stout walking-sticks from the trees at the road-side, and together marched on cheerfully, conversing as they went, until the tutor's carriage met them about a mile from the next halting-place.
