Believe me ever your very sincere and affectionate friend,
F. Liszt
42. To Abbe de Lamennais
[Autograph in the possession of M. Alfred Bovet at Valentigney.]
Permit me, illustrious and venerable friend, to recall myself to your remembrance through M. Ciabatta, who has already had the honor of being introduced to you last year at my house. He has just been making a tour in Spain and Portugal with me, and can give you all particulars about it. I should have been glad also to get him to take back to you the score, now completed, of the chorus which you were so good as to entrust to me ("The iron is hard, let us strike!"), but unfortunately it is not with music as with painting and poetry: body and soul alone are not enough to make it comprehensible; it has to be performed, and very well performed too, to be understood and felt. Now the performance of a chorus of the size of that is not an easy matter in Paris, and I would not even risk it without myself conducting the preliminary rehearsals. While waiting till a favorable opportunity offers, allow me to tell you that I have been happy to do this work, and that I trust I have not altogether failed in it. Were it not for the fear of appearing to you very indiscreet, I should perhaps venture to trespass on your kindness for the complete series of these simple, and at the same time sublime, compositions, of which you alone know the secret. Three other choruses of the same kind as that of the Blacksmiths, which should sum up the most poetical methods of human activity, and which should be called (unless you advise otherwise) Labourers, Sailors, and Soldiers, would form a lyric epic of which the genius of Rossini or Meyerbeer would be proud. I know I have no right to make any such claim, but your kindness to me has always been so great that I have a faint hope of obtaining this new and glorious favor. If, however, this work would give you even an hour's trouble, please consider my request as not having been made, and pardon me for the regret which I shall feel at this beautiful idea being unrealized.
As business matters do not necessarily call me to Paris, I prefer not to return there just now. I expect to go to Bonn in the month of July, for the inauguration of the Beethoven Monument, and to have a Cantata performed there which I have written for this occasion. The text, at any rate, is tolerably new; it is a sort of Magnificat of human Genius conquered by God in the eternal revelation through time and space,—a text which might apply equally well to Goethe or Raphael or Columbus, as to Beethoven. At the beginning of winter I shall resume my duties at the Court of Weymar, to which I attach more and more a serious importance.
If you were to be so very good as to write me a few lines, I should be most happy and grateful. If you would send them either to my mother's address, Rue Louis le Grand, 20; or to that of my secretary, Mr. Belloni, Rue Neuve St. George, No. 5, I should always get them in a very short time.
I have the honor to be, sir, yours very gratefully,
F. Liszt
Marseilles, April 28th, 1845