Were these objections wholly unfounded? Irrespective of what passed in those days for excessive “learning” the “Reformation Symphony” is, in good truth, a stodgy work, far more willed than inspired. The most engaging thing in it is the citation in the first movement of that “Dresden Amen” formula, which half a century later Wagner was to employ in “Parsifal”. Strangely enough, some pages of the symphony sound like Schumann without the latter’s melodic invention. It is only just to point out that the composer himself came to detest it, declared it was the one work of his he would gladly burn and refused to permit its publication.
Zelter died not long after Goethe and the Singakademie found itself without a head. Mendelssohn seemed his old teacher’s logical successor and he would gladly have accepted the post. But many of the old ladies of the chorus did not take kindly to the idea of “singing under a Jewish boy”. When it came to a vote Felix was defeated by a large majority and one Karl Rungenhagen installed as Zelter’s successor. Rather tactlessly the Mendelssohns resigned their membership in a body. Felix’s popularity in Berlin was not improved by the situation, despite the family’s wealth and influence. He said little but the wound rankled, somewhat as happened earlier over Berlin’s rejection of “Camacho’s Wedding”.
The Cäcilienverein, of Frankfort, asked the composer to write an oratorio based on St. Paul. But if Mendelssohn was unable to oblige at once, the seed was planted and, in proper season, was to take root. Late in 1832 a different kind of offer came from another quarter. The Lower Rhine Festival was to be given in Düsseldorf the spring of 1833. Would Felix conduct it?
The Düsseldorf commission was accepted and as soon as preliminaries were arranged Felix was off to his “smoky nest” once more. He had now completed his “Italian” Symphony and placed it, along with his “Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage” and “Trumpet” Overtures at the disposal of the London Philharmonic. The Symphony was produced on May 13, 1833. To this day it remains one of the most translucent, gracious and limpid creations imaginable—“kid glove music”, as some have called it, but no less inspired for its gentility. Is it really Italian, despite the Neapolitan frenzy of its “Saltarello” finale? Is it not rather Grecian, like so much else in Mendelssohn’s art, with its incorruptible symmetry and its Mediterranean limpidezza? Where has Mendelssohn instrumented with more luminous clarity than in the first three movements? The second one, a kind of Pilgrims’ March, has none of the sentimentality which wearies in some of the composer’s adagios. The third, in its weaving grace is, one might say, Mendelssohnian in the loveliest sense.
“Mr. Felix”, as he was freely called, returned to Germany for the Düsseldorf festival, which began on May 26 (Whitsuntide), 1833. Abraham Mendelssohn came from Berlin to witness his son’s triumph. The Düsseldorf directorate was so pleased with everything that Mendelssohn was asked to take charge “of all the public and private musical establishments of the town” for a period of three years. He was to have a three months’ leave of absence each summer. “One thing I especially like about Felix’s position is that, while so many have titles without an office he will have a real office without a title”, declared the father.
Meanwhile, the projected “St. Paul” oratorio was more and more filling its composer’s mind and probably a large part of it had already taken shape. As a matter of fact, he looked upon his appointment at Düsseldorf less as a lucrative engagement than as furnishing him an opportunity “for securing quiet and leisure for composition”. Still, he gave much attention to his duties, particularly those in connection with church music “for which no appropriate epithet exists for that hitherto given here”. In an evil hour he had lightly agreed to take charge of the activities at the theatre. It was not long before he regretted it. Felix was never made to cope with the intrigues and irritations of an opera house. On the opening night, at a performance of “Don Giovanni”, there was a riot in the theatre and the curtain had to be lowered four times before the middle of the first act. Associated with him was Karl Immermann, with whom he had previously negotiated about an opera book based on Shakespeare’s “Tempest”. In Düsseldorf their relations became strained and eventually Felix, in disgust, gave up his theatrical labours and the salary that went with them.
“St. Paul” was not so swiftly completed as the composer may have hoped from his Düsseldorf “leisure” (actually, it was finished only in 1836). But he could not, from a creative standpoint, have been called an idler. To the Düsseldorf period of 1833-34 belong the Overture “The Beautiful Melusine”, the “Rondo Brillant” in E flat, for piano and orchestra, the A minor Capriccio for piano, the concert aria, “Infelice”, a revision of the “Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage” Overture and not a little else. The “Melusine” is one of his most poetic and mellifluous inspirations, with its lovely “wave figure” based on the arpeggiated form of the F major chord and so intimately related to one of the Rhine motives in Wagner’s “Ring”. How Mendelssohn managed to accomplish so much without slighting in any way his social obligations, his watercolor painting, his excursions here and there is hard to grasp.
In good truth, the enormous productivity which his unremitting facility encouraged, his piano playing and conducting, his incessant travels were subtly undermining his system. The effects did not make themselves felt at once but they contributed, bit by bit, to a nervous irritation that grew on him. Whether or not he appreciated that he came from a stock which, though healthy, bore in itself the seeds of an early death he made no effort to spare himself and never hesitated to burn the candle at both ends. The Mendelssohns had delicate blood vessels, they were predisposed to apoplexy. Abraham may or may not have been forewarned when, on returning to Berlin from Düsseldorf with his wife and Felix, he fell ill at Cassel. For a time his sight had been failing and he was becoming an outright hypochondriac. The more difficult he grew the more intense was the filial devotion Felix lavished on him.
Early in 1835 the composer received from Dr. Conrad Schleinitz a communication which showed that his good fortunes were to remain constant. It was nothing less than an invitation to accept the post of conductor of the Gewandhaus concerts in Leipzig. Mendelssohn was flattered but experience had made him canny. Before giving his reply he demanded categorical answers to a number of questions touching artistic and business matters. Everything was settled to his satisfaction and, with his parents, his sisters and their husbands, he returned to the Rhineland to conduct another Lower Rhine Festival, this time to be held in Cologne.
If there was one place which promised to provide as happy a home for Felix as London did it was Leipzig. The atmosphere of the town was a spiritual balm after the hectic life of Düsseldorf. Who shall say that it was not with symbolic intent that the newcomer led off his activities with his own “Calm Sea” Overture and Beethoven’s serene Fourth Symphony? And although Felix’s circle of musical friendships sometimes appeared boundless he now came into intimate contact with certain choice and master spirits of the age whom he might otherwise have known only casually. An early visitor at Mendelssohn’s new home was Chopin and in a letter to his parents in Berlin he writes of his pleasure in being able to associate once more with a thorough musician. One of those to whom Felix introduced Chopin was Clara Wieck, then only sixteen. On October 3—a historic date, as it proved—another stepped into the charmed circle, Robert Schumann, to whom Mendelssohn was to become a god. “Felix Meritis entered”, wrote Schumann describing in his best Florestan vein the first Gewandhaus concert. “In a moment a hundred hearts flew to him!”