But, for all the crookedness of his letters, he feels just as happy and grateful as you or I would. Why, our letters are quite as crippled, if we compare them and their words to the sense they should convey.

I postpone saying anything in reference to the chief subject of our last letters till I am in a fresher and brighter mood. But I should like to know soon if you have really spoken to Bunsen, and what he said. The King of Prussia, I know, does not confine himself to native talent. Proposals would certainly not be expected from you, but would be made to you, whether coming from here or elsewhere.

Ever yours,

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.

Leipzig, April 15, 1843.

My dear Friend,—Thanks for your letter of March 10, which was anything but a dry business memorandum, as it announced itself, but one of those kind and friendly letters which I always most heartily welcome. But now, do tell me what can have given you the idea that I was appointed Director of the Leipzig Music School, and that “all plans of our living together in Germany would vanish into thin air,” etc. I am not appointed, and I am as anxious to have you here as ever, and confidently trust our plans will not prove castles in the air. You must have taken some newspaper paragraph for gospel truth; and you know that in my opinion they have been known to fall very short of that. These are really the facts:—

Three years ago I endeavored to found a music-school in Leipzig; and after endless interviews and exchanges of letters with some prominent men here, and also with the King, I felt, on my return from Berlin, that there was no time to be lost, and that it was a case of now or never. My engagements in Berlin did not allow of my accepting a permanent appointment here; but I took the matter in hand last November, and, having got the necessary funds, the school was opened, and I engaged to act as one of the teachers during the time I should remain here. I wrote to you then, and expressed my ardent desire to see you eventually at the head of the institution. Nothing has changed my desire since; only, what was then a long-cherished plan became four weeks ago a reality, and promises to bear good fruit.

Now, if we could only persuade you to come! Whether I am here or not, it would be equally desirable to have you at the head of the institution. So far the Board of Directors is composed of only five gentlemen, none of whom are musicians. The six teachers are subordinate to them, but amongst themselves they are on an equal footing. But I believe that later on, when the institution develops, as seems very likely to be the case, a change will be necessary, and a musical man will have to join the Directors, or even to take the lead independently. And that is the position which, in connection with the Subscription Concerts, would be worthy of your acceptance. The difficulty is to get them to make you a definite proposal, both from a business and a musical point of view. No doubt, they would all like to have you here; but liking and wishing and thinking alone will not do it; and how absolutely necessary it is to come to a clear understanding in such matters, I should have learnt during the course of my negotiations in Berlin, had I not already been aware of the fact.

Have you received an offer from Prague to take the directorship of the Conservatorium there? Spohr’s name was mentioned in connection with it, and so was yours. That he was asked, and that he refused, I know for a fact. I am anxious to hear whether there is any foundation for the rumor connecting your name with it.

I do not know what the appointment is like, but am enough of a patriot to wish that you lived in Germany rather than in England. The paper is at an end, so good-by.

Yours ever,

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.

Leipzig, April 30, 1843.

My dear Friend,—Our last letters crossed on the road. A thousand thanks for yours that I received a few days ago. You know what heartfelt pleasure it gives me every time I see that well-known handwriting of yours on the address, and how grateful I am to you for writing to me, overwhelmed as you are by every kind of claim on your time. It would certainly be better if we need never correspond, and could exchange ideas verbally from one end of the year to the other, and that in Germany too! That is a prospect I am less than ever inclined to give up; only, I don’t quite see my way to the where and the how. So, in the mean while, accept my thanks for the letter. The terms at our music school are two hundred thalers per annum; the cost of living here, at all decently, would amount at least to two hundred thalers. Young Englishmen, who usually live rather better, would probably require from two hundred and fifty to three hundred thalers,—say fifty or sixty pounds per annum.

The school has made a fair start; new pupils are almost daily joining, and the number of lessons and of teachers has had to be considerably increased. There are already thirty odd pupils, twelve of whom are instructed free of charge, and some of them are very promising.

We are afflicted, however, with two veritable maladies, which I mean to fight with all my might as long as I have anything to do with the institution. First, the Directors want to enlarge and to expand,—build houses and hire rooms,—whilst I maintain that for the next ten years the two large rooms that we have, and in which instruction can be given simultaneously, are quite sufficient. And then the pupils all want to compose and to theorize, whilst I believe that the principal thing that can and ought to be taught is sound practical work,—sound playing and keeping time, sound knowledge of sound music, etc. Out of that, all other knowledge grows of itself; and what is beyond is not a matter of teaching, but must come as a gift from above. Don’t you agree with me? That I am not the man to turn art into mere mechanism, I need not say. But whither am I wandering? I have got into chatting instead of writing the two lines I intended. So now good-by.

Yours ever,

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.

In a letter of the 5th of April, 1844, Moscheles communicates to Mendelssohn the desire of the Handel Society, that Mendelssohn should prepare a new edition of the “Messiah.” Moscheles had announced a concert for the 1st of June; and, in view of Mendelssohn’s expected visit to England, he writes to ask him whether he is inclined to play on that occasion some new piece of his own composition for two performers. “Have you got anything of that kind amongst your manuscripts,” he says; “or, if not, might not Jupiter evolve something Minerva-like from his fertile brain?”

Leipzig, April 12, 1844.

My dearest Friend,—A thousand thanks for that dear, kind letter of yours, that I received (with the one from the Handel Society) just as I was leaving Berlin. Several weeks must elapse before I can knock at your door, as I shall be travelling slowly, and stopping at various places. But I will not postpone thanking you for your letter, and telling you how much pleasure it has given me. If you knew how deeply rooted is my heart-felt regard, how warm my admiration for you and your music, there would be no need to say how delighted I am that you will allow me to play at your concert and to appear in public by your side. But I know you are too unassuming ever to listen to anything of the kind; and the fact is, when it is put into words it really does not look genuine. So I had better write nothing more about it,—only this much, that I am at all times truly happy to make music with you, whether in public or in private. In whatever way you can use me, I am at your service. Let me write out parts, or collect tickets, or do anything else. If you can turn me to account, you will make me truly happy and grateful.

I do not think I have anything ready for two pianofortes. There are those Variations on a theme in B flat; I like them very well in a room, but they are not at all suited for public performance. What I should like best would be to write something new by that time; but time is short. Could not we play something on the organ, or even improvise together, or write ourselves a four-hand Fugue for the organ? Well, as I said before, you decide as to the what and how, and I am ready. At the latest, I shall be in London by the first week in May.

I have the greatest desire to accept the very gratifying offer of the Handel Society; but I have written to Macfarren to say that I cannot give a definite answer until I have had an opportunity of verbal communication. There can be no objection, I suppose, to the delay. Some of the editorial duties (especially preparing the Introduction) I doubt if I should be able to undertake; and that makes a verbal understanding desirable.

Thank you for correcting the proofs of my “Book of Songs;” thank you for the invitation to play at your concert; in fact, thank you for all these twenty years that I have known you, and in which you have shown me nothing but kindness.

Ever yours,

Felix M.

Mendelssohn had been requested by the Handel Society to prepare an edition of the Oratorio “Israel in Egypt.” Later on, a difficulty arose in reference to the notation. Moscheles says, in a letter to Mendelssohn: “A meeting was convened to discuss the subject; and after a lively debate it was decided that the only way to put before the public that notation which you saw in the original manuscript, and which you wish to adopt, would be to publish a fac-simile of it. But that, to be sure, would be out of keeping with the three works already published by the Society.”

On the 8th of May Mendelssohn came to London, where he was as enthusiastically received as ever, whether he appeared before the public as a composer, a conductor, or a pianist. In Moscheles’s concert he played, with him and Thalberg, Bach’s Triple Concerto; in which his performance, and especially his improvisation of the Cadenza, is described as simply miraculous. On another occasion he played Moscheles’s “Hommage à Handel,” for two performers, with the composer; at the Philharmonic he conducted for the first time his “Walpurgisnacht.”

As on former occasions, he was a constant and welcome guest in Chester Place. In celebration of Moscheles’s birthday, he drew a second page of illustrations, referring to Moscheles’s works, as a sequel to the one he made in 1832. “The writing,” he says, “is again Emily’s; the poem, Klingemann’s; the design is again invented and the ink-blots omitted by Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.” Amongst the various humorous allusions to Moscheles’s works, we find his song “Silent Love,” represented by a padlock closing the composer’s mouth. The “March of intellect, Miss-understanding,” allude to the “Harmonized Scales” written by Moscheles for his youngest daughter, Clara. The “Scène champêtre” illustrates the “Concerto Pastorale.” “Les Roses et les épines de la dédication” show us Moscheles presenting his Concerto to Mendelssohn, who is bowing and profusely thanking, quite unconscious of the difficult passage which is lying in wait for him behind his back. The following is the translation of the lines in the centre of the page:—

Mendelssohn left London on the 10th of July; two months later he and Moscheles met in Frankfurt. Another drawing illustrates an amusing incident at a concert that Moscheles gave in that city. It is described in a letter from Moscheles’s daughter Emily:—[52]

“The room, long before the concert began, was crammed full, and still the people were coming. ‘What will the Frankfurters say when they find no seats?’ said Mendelssohn to Rosenhain. ‘Let us try to hire some chairs. Come along!’ Off they were, but it was no easy matter to get chairs; for, it being the time of the fair, there were none to spare in the crowded hotels. At last they found four dozen in a small inn. ‘These must be sent immediately,’ says Mendelssohn. ‘But who is to pay?’ inquires the landlord. ‘A great artist, Moscheles, who is giving a concert. It is all right; your money is safe.’ ‘Stop a minute!’ says the canny landlord; ‘those great artists often give concerts, pocket the money, and then disappear. I must have something down.’ Mendelssohn and Rosenhain empty their pockets, which happen to be poorly filled. The landlord, however, is satisfied, and they hurry off to the concert-room with an instalment of chairs inside and outside their cab, the rest following.

“Another little incident that pleased Mendelssohn mightily, was a certain C far down in the bass, which my father unexpectedly put in as he was playing his A flat Study. ‘That took me by surprise,’ he said; ‘it has a splendid effect, and ought not to be forgotten. I must put it down at once in Mrs. Moscheles’s album.’ He did so, drawing at the same time the cab, Rosenhain, himself, chairs, and all, but only half a horse. ‘I can’t draw that by heart,’ he said.”

Frankfurt, March 7, 1845.

My dear Friend,—It really was too kind of you to sit down and have a talk with me on paper, in the good old style. Now I will just leave everything to take care of itself till I have returned your chat and thanked you for your never-varying kindness to me. What you say of musicians and their doings in England, is certainly far from satisfactory; but where are doings ever satisfactory? Our inner life it is that is worth living; but then that is a very different thing to our outer doings,—something very much better. Conducting and getting up public performances is all very well in its way; but the result, even for the public, does not go far. A little better, a little worse, what does it matter? How soon it is forgotten! And what is it but our inner life, our calm and peaceful moments, that act and react on all this, that impel us and lead us onwards, taking all that public business in tow, and dragging it here and there, whichever way it should go?

That is the language of a Philistine (you will say), of a domestic animal, or a snail. And yet there is some truth in it; and one book of your “Studies” has had more influence on the public and on art than I don’t know how many morning and evening concerts in I don’t know how many years.

Do you see what I am driving at? I should so much like to get that four-hand Sonata of yours, or some four-hand Studies, or, for that, some two-hand ones, or whatever else you might send. But, to be sure, your season is beginning; and how little time is left you for composing and for your own

self, I know full well. But don’t let the English Misses make you forget the German Misses, and their necessary adjuncts the Misters, who are waiting for that four-hand Sonata.

As for your feeling hurt by anything the Directors of the Philharmonic may have decided upon amongst themselves, I can only say you do them too much honor; their counsels can scarcely pretend to such distinction. On the contrary, I must confess that after I saw more of them last year, my good opinion was very much shaken, and my belief, too, in the future prospects of the Society. I very much doubt whether anything important can be expected of it; although, to be sure, the end will not come as long as the public opens its purse-strings. But the fact of the matter is, there are some very indifferent representatives of the musical profession that want to take the lead, and are allowed to do so; and the consequence is, as usual, that misunderstandings arise, intrigues follow, and the main object to be pursued is neglected. C’est tout comme chez nous. Do not ask where the nous is. It is everywhere. Just the old thing,—the inner life I was speaking of on the other page: da capo del segno fino al e poi.

I regret the difficulty with the Handel Society, but I cannot alter my views on the subject. On less important points I am ready to give way; as, for instance, in reference to the accidentals,—although there, too, I prefer the old method, on account of the long bars. But I cannot possibly introduce my marks of expression into a score of Handel’s, nor my tempi, nor anything else, unless it is to be made perfectly clear what is mine and what Handel’s; and as he has put his pianos and fortes and his figured basses where he thought them necessary, I must either omit them or leave the public in doubt as to which is his marking and which mine. It would be no great trouble to any one who agrees with my marking, to have it copied from the pianoforte arrangement into the score. On the other hand, it would be no slight evil if the edition did not clearly distinguish between Handel’s and the editor’s views. I must say that the interest I take in the Society is entirely dependent on the decision in reference to this point. The edition of the “Anthems” was so unsatisfactory, on account of the new marking, that I would never use it for the purposes of a public performance. I wish to know, above all things, what is Handel’s and what is not. This desire the Council shared with me last year; but now the opposite views seem to prevail, and if they are adopted, I for one (and a good many with me, I believe) will much prefer the old edition, with its incorrect notes, to the new one with its various conceptions and consequent marking. All that I have written to Macfarren. I trust you are not angry with me for speaking out so plainly. My opinion is so intimately connected with what I have held to be right, all my life, that I could not possibly alter it.

We have had little music here lately. But one great treat was the performance, at a private house, of Cherubini’s second Requiem, in D minor. They had given it six months’ study, and it went accordingly. André has just sent the original score of Mozart’s C major Symphony (“Jupiter”) for my perusal. I must write out something from it for you that will amuse you. Eleven bars before the end, it formerly stood thus:—

The whole repetition of the theme he has written on an inserted leaf; the above passage is struck out, and only comes in three bars before the end. Isn’t it a happy alteration? The repetition of the seven bars is one of the passages in that Symphony I love best.

But here our gossip must end.

Yours ever,

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.

“Israel in Egypt” was eventually edited by Mendelssohn, appearing in 1845-1846. On the titlepage and in the preface he most carefully guards against any possible misconception, and says: “The editor is alone responsible for the directions of ‘piano’ and ‘forte,’ and other marks of expression; for all such descriptions of the movements as stand within brackets (those which are not so placed being the only indications for which the original manuscripts furnish authority); for the suggestion of the tempi according to Maelzel’s metronome; and for the figuring of the organ part. The adaptation of the instrumental parts for the pianoforte, intended as an accompaniment to the voices in the absence of the orchestra, is by the editor; for this, also, he alone is responsible.”

Frankfurt, April 12, 1845.

My dear Friend,—You must have been as delighted at the news of Klingemann’s engagement and the prospect of his being married soon, as I was. No, not quite so much; for when the news came, I danced about the room for fully five minutes, to the astonishment of Cécile, who thought I was out of my senses. Well, it has been a pet wish of mine for ever so long, and now that it is about to be realized I can scarcely believe it. I had given up all hopes of its coming to pass, and now that it has come I am doubly glad. It seems, too, so desirable and excellent a match that I feel sure it must bring happiness.

With us, thank Heaven, all is well. Cécile is in good health and spirits, the children are flourishing, spring is approaching; what more can mortal man desire?

You complain of the musical shortcomings in your part of the world. Well, things are not brilliant here; yet, for all that, one does occasionally get to hear something good. Add to that the balmy air of spring, the piano, and some sheets of music paper, and, after all, life is bearable.

Your old and very affectionate friend,

Felix M. B.

Berlin, Nov. 13, 1845.

My dear Friend,—There is a rumor afloat in Leipzig, and I have met with it more than once since my return, that you might possibly take up your abode there, and devote yourself chiefly to the Conservatorio, thus carrying out, to the advantage of the Leipzigers, your old plan of settling in Germany. I must say I did not put much faith in the report. The difference between London and Leipzig is so great that I could scarcely fancy you would ever make up your mind to leave the former for the latter. But the other day I heard it asserted positively at an evening party that you had said you were disposed to settle in Leipzig. Some one had the news from Hamburg. Unlikely as it seems, I cannot help writing to ask whether there possibly might be some foundation for the rumor, and, secondly, whether I could do anything to convert such possibility into a certainty. I need not tell you how anxious I am to know, and how important the matter is, not only to me, but to all true lovers of music in Germany. So pray write as soon as possible how it really stands, and tell me point blank what steps should be taken to persuade you, if you are to be persuaded at all; or if you are only thinking of it in a general way and as a possible contingency, then just give me an outline of your ideas in an equally general way.

Nothing would be better and simpler, to be sure, if you really were inclined to decide for Leipzig, than to go straight there and to settle all details personally. But for the present, my only question is whether there is any truth at all in the report, or whether it is all idle talk, such as often gets about, without any foundation whatever. I believe, if you wrote to say there was a remote chance, the Leipzig Town Council would petition you in a body, the burgomaster at their head. Of my personal joy I say nothing to-day. I merely write as a Leipziger. When I heard the report the other day, I was suddenly seized with patriotic feelings for Leipzig, and I said to myself, “If I could but do something to bring this about!”

Good-by. I have been here for the last three weeks, to conduct performances of my “Athalie,” “Œdipus,” and some other things.

Yours ever,

F. M.

Moscheles writes:

Nov. 28, 1845.

My dear Friend,—As in the times of the Greeks the household gods were enthroned in every house and were surrounded by love and reverence, so you too have a special shrine devoted to you in Chester Place,—in our hearts rather and in our daily thoughts of you and yours.... Now let me first thank you for the cordial and hearty words you write on the prospects of my settling in Germany. My wishes in that direction are ever present,—smouldering embers that your friendly intervention, your influence, and, above all, the sacred spark of your genius, may kindle into a bright flame. Your questions remind me of those you put to me as we were walking arm in arm along the wide streets of London; they were the same, and now as then I have the same answer to give: Yes—yes—yes! I have grown indifferent to the so-called attractions of the great world; the taste of the day does not suit me, and I do not care to make any concessions to it, whether in public or in private life. What I aspire to, is an appropriate sphere of musical activity, interesting surroundings, you by my side, and finally Germany.

The position of head teacher of the pianoforte at the Leipzig Conservatorio would be very acceptable to me; and I readily assume that you are the Director of the whole establishment, and that I could work in the same spirit that, from your first appearance in Leipzig, you infused into the art life of that musical centre.

Leipzig, Dec. 20, 1845.

My dear Friend,—I most gladly take up the pen to-day; for I believe and trust that this letter may be instrumental in bringing about the realization of a wish which we Leipzigers, and more especially I personally, have long had at heart, remote as seemed the possibility of its fulfilment.

Yesterday I learned that the Directors of the Conservatorio were about to write to you officially. Their offers, which will be in your hands in a few days, will at least prove to you how fully they appreciate the desirability of securing you and your services for Leipzig. I hear they have based their proposals on the suggestions you made in your letter to me, and which I submitted to them on my return. The salary they offer you is more than double that of any other professor; they agree to the leave of absence, and, in fact, accede to one and all of your wishes. When you come to consider that they are ready to draw to the fullest extent on the means at their disposal, and further, that it would be hard to find elsewhere so influential and independent a position, I trust you will be disposed to accept their proposals. I feel all the more confident of the result, knowing, as I do, your ideas on the state of things here as compared with that in England, and remembering how much in earnest you were when we last talked the subject over.

The sum which is to be offered to you (if my information is correct) is small, according to English notions, but not so, measured by a German standard. Nor is it small when you take into consideration that it represents a fixed salary for only two or three lessons daily, and when you make allowance for the time of ten weeks’ leave of absence; so that, if you choose to give two or three private lessons besides, you will be in a more remunerative position than most musical men in this country, and yet not have to give more than four or five lessons daily. That would be light work for you, accustomed as you are to the incredible exertions of London life. You would have leisure enough, and to spare; and what splendid fruit that might bear for art and for your friends! I cannot for a moment doubt that, under the circumstances, you will appreciate the change; and I must say that, from what I hear of the petty doings over there, and from what I experienced myself eighteen months ago, I can fully understand that every year brings you fresh cause for dissatisfaction, and a growing desire to turn your back on it all. And, really, the position you are asked to occupy is not unworthy of your acceptance.

One point I must answer, to correct a misapprehension: I am not, and never shall be, the Director of the school. I stand in precisely the same kind of position that it is hoped you may occupy. The duties of my department are the reading of compositions, etc.; and as I was one of the founders of the school, and am acquainted with its weak points, I lend a hand here and there until we are more firmly established. I look upon it as an element of stability that we should have no musical director placed in authority above the professors,—head masters, as we call them. These—Hauptmann, Becker, David, and myself (may I soon be able to add your name!)—form a committee of management on all musical matters, subordinate to the Directors only, inasmuch as these select the teachers, manage the business, and are generally the representatives of the Institute. But all musical matters are submitted to the committee of teachers, or to the special professor whom they may concern. So, for instance, any question relating to harmony would be referred to Hauptmann, whilst Becker would deal with what concerns the organ. The Board of Directors consists exclusively of prominent citizens,—non-musicians,—who give their services gratuitously.

And now let me request that if there is anything you do not wish to mention officially, you will inform me, and give me an opportunity of contributing to the success of a negotiation which may prove more fruitful in its results than any we have hitherto undertaken in the interests of music.

“I scarcely venture to hope, so much do I wish it,” says your wife; and I, with a better right, echo her words,—for if you both only wish it half as much as I do, I fancy I may venture to hope.

And now, best thanks for your letter from Paris, that crossed mine on the road; and my congratulations on your successes, and the dedication at St. Cloud. As regards the Sonata[53] itself, it is of no use putting the many questions about it which I am so anxious and impatient to have answered; but I will make sure that Kistner lets me have the manuscript without an hour’s delay. And just fancy, now, how grand it will be when we get that kind of thing before all kings of the French! I do believe the Leipzigers will get too proud; and yet I should be happy for their sakes. You see I can write of nothing else to-day. Good-by; let me hear from you soon.

Ever yours, F. M.

The following letter is in answer to Moscheles’s question in reference to the cost of living in Leipzig:—

Leipzig, Jan. 17, 1846.

My dear Friend,—Your last letter, and that of your wife, gave me the greatest pleasure, for they seem to hold out a promise that our wish to have you here will be fulfilled. I do hope and trust we are not mistaken. On the day that brings your consent I will drain my best bottle of wine, and cap it with a cup of champagne. I hasten to answer your questions, having duly consulted my wife and her account-books with the following result: The price of a flat—consisting of seven or eight rooms, with kitchen and appurtenances—varies from three hundred to three hundred and fifty thalers.[54] For that sum it should be handsome and cheerful; and as regards the situation, should leave nothing to be desired. Servants would cost about one hundred to one hundred and ten thalers per annum, all depending, to be sure, on what you require. Male servants are not much in demand here, their wages varying from three to twelve thalers per month. A good cook gets forty thalers a year; a housemaid, thirty-two. If you add to these a lady’s-maid, who could sew and make dresses, you would reach about the above-mentioned figure. Should you require, in addition to these, a man-servant, that, to be sure, would increase the expense; but living as others do here, I think you would scarcely need one. Wood—that is, fuel for kitchen, stoves, etc.—is dear, and may amount to one hundred and fifty or two hundred thalers for a family of five, with servants. Rates and taxes are next to nothing: eight or ten thalers a year would cover all. In a word, I think you would live very well and comfortably on from eighteen hundred to two thousand thalers. It is difficult to fix the terms for your lessons, even approximatively, for there is no precedent in Leipzig to go by. Madame Schumann-Wieck had two thalers, but at that price found only few pupils, and those mostly among foreigners spending a short time here. I think that would be different with you, and am confident that if you chose to say one thaler and a half you would be overrun by applicants. The same probably would be the case at two thalers. And so I return to what I said in my last letter: I believe that, putting together the salary from the Conservatorio and what you would make by private lessons and the publication of compositions (even if you published ever so little, but I trust it would be ever so much), your income would suffice for your expenditure, and it would still be open to you to draw on your capital or to leave it to bear interest. I do not think I have in any way looked at things in too favorable a light in giving you these estimates. I certainly made them after due consideration, and in accordance with my experience of this place.

Now I have but to add that I have no doubt your furniture will be allowed to pass free of duty (in fact, I don’t mind making bold to guarantee that at once); further, that I certainly have composed a “Lauda Sion” for a church festival at Liege; and finally, that we are all well, and thinking of you, and expecting with the greatest impatience your next letter, which is to bring us the welcome news that you are coming.

Ever yours,

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.

Moscheles writes:—

London, Jan. 26, 1846.

A thousand thanks, my dear friend, for that kindest of letters. In its way it is as complete as you are yourself in all your creations. Whether at the Piano or the Organ, from the Song to the Oratorio, in Canon, Fugue, or Symphony; with the pen (vide certain birthday illustrations) or with the brush on the Bridge of Sighs—always the same: bright, gifted, and genial. I am only sorry that my warm appreciation of your qualities gives me no great advantage over your other admirers; however, in one respect I am in advance of them, and that is, in the thanks I owe you. My answer to the Directors I enclose; please seal and deliver it.

On the 3d of February Moscheles writes:—

“Elated as we were at the prospect before us, our spirits were further raised by an unexpected invitation to conduct the Birmingham Festival that I received the other day. Coupled with that, is the good news that you have promised to take part in it, and to produce a new work of yours on that occasion; so you can fancy that all is indeed sunshine to me.”

Leipzig, Feb. 11, 1846.

Hurrah! your decision is taken, you are coming! Let every one of these lines rejoice! A more welcome piece of news I have not received since I have been here, and one that promises so rich a harvest for all of us. There was a flutter of excitement, such as I have never witnessed in our ranks, when I produced your letter at the Board meeting the other day. I had kept it all to myself, to lay before the Directors on that occasion; and when the time came, I announced that I had received your answer, and here it was with your acceptance, black on white. They were for answering at once; but as there were several of them, it took a few days, so that you get their letter with mine to-day. Not only the leave of absence for three months, but anything and everything you may desire, will, I am sure, be agreed to. In fact, it is in everybody’s interest that you should be made perfectly comfortable; and I do believe you will be satisfied, and will not be unfavorably impressed by the difference between the stirring metropolis and our petty provincialism. This much is certain, that you can nowhere find better intentions, and a heartier desire on all sides to make you feel at home, than here. Since the Fates have decreed that you shall return to Germany, and since you cannot, in this most excellent but somewhat peculiar country, hope to escape a certain amount of gossip and twaddle, whichever place of abode you may select, I think you will have no reason to regret your choice having fallen on Leipzig, and I trust you will like it better and better every year.

My personal feelings I cannot adequately express. How could I tell you what it is to me, when I think that you are really coming; that you are going to live here for good, you and yours, and that what seemed a castle in the air is about to become a tangible reality; that we shall be together, not merely to run through the dissipations of a season, but to enjoy an intimate and uninterrupted intercourse? I shall have a few houses painted rose-color as soon as you really are within our walls. But it needs not that; your arrival alone will give the whole place a new complexion. But what is the use of my scribbling, when you are coming, and we can thank you verbally? Not that that is necessary; you know too well, without words, how overjoyed we are. Cécile will write a few words for herself.

Now, you must soon let me have a long, domestic, non-musical letter, like my last one, so that we can arrange and settle various things for you before you arrive. Isn’t it delightful that we have got to that point already?

Your second letter, with the Birmingham news, just comes too. They have truly done well in securing you as a conductor; and how splendid it would be if we could meet there! About my “Elijah,” however, I shall not be able to decide

anything before the middle of next month. The fact is, my health frequently leaves much to be desired; and all this conducting and performing often fatigues me greatly. At such times I scarcely believe I shall be strong enough to go through a musical festival again. If I possibly can, I most certainly shall go; but as there is considerable doubt of my being able to do so, I am doubly glad to know that the matter is in your hands, feeling sure that thus all must go well.

The letter to Jenny Lind I have sent to Berlin; and when I see her a few weeks hence, I will put it strongly to her, but I scarcely believe she will be at liberty to accept. It is wonderful how she is sought after on all sides, and I believe her engagements are fully made up to the end of the year.

Beethoven’s “Ruins of Athens,” or rather my selections from that work, would be appropriate, but they have not yet appeared in print. I believe Ewer & Co. have the score and the copyright. Pischek, I trust, you will be able to secure; he would be an important acquisition. More of all that next time. For to-day, good-by. Once more, thanks and—hurrah! you are coming!

Ever yours,

Felix.

In reference to the “Sonate Symphonique,” Mendelssohn wrote to Messrs. Stern & Co., publishers, in Berlin:—

Leipzig, March 20, 1846.

To Messrs. Stern & Co., Music Publishers, Berlin:

Gentlemen,—Kapellmeister Taubert, who is leaving to-morrow for Berlin, brings you the proofs of Moscheles’s Sonata. I have played it with him, and have looked it carefully through without having discovered a single fault, and am happy to find the work of my friend and teacher so judiciously and correctly presented. I am

Yours truly,

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.

Leipzig, April 20, 1846.

My dear Friend,—Many thanks for your last letter, which I received yesterday. Although I dare say you have heard through Klingemann that I hope to complete my Oratorio, I write myself to-day to tell you so. If my health continues as satisfactory as it is at present, I feel confident I can be ready in time, and will give some sheets to the copyist within the next few days, with a view of forwarding them to you without delay. Towards Whitsuntide I trust the chief pieces of the first part and some of the second will be in your hands. That will be soon enough, will it not? I am still undecided whether I shall have the parts printed, as Mr. Moore desires. Why should they not be copied out just as well? If, contrary to expectation, I should not have finished, I have enough other manuscripts in readiness, so that I might, as Mr. Moore suggests, conduct some other new piece of mine. My “Athalie,” for instance, is now in England, and, if I am not mistaken, is being translated by Bartholomew; so, if the worst comes to the worst, those Choruses could be sung. But, as I said before, I trust that will not be necessary; and if it is not otherwise decreed, I most surely mean to go to Birmingham. How delightful to see you all again! Excuse my writing so hurriedly; I am quite incapable of putting together a sensible letter.—But just one more question: Is it not quite time that you should give me your orders for Leipzig? That you will be here by next autumn, I take for granted, and my wife and I ought to set about making all the necessary preparations. So please let us know.

Thanks for your kind and friendly words in reference to my work, and a thousand thanks for that beautiful four-hand Sonata of yours, the proofs of which I corrected and then got as a present into the bargain. I only wish the time had come already for us to sit together at the piano and play it.

Best love to your wife and children from

Yours ever,

Felix.

Leipzig, May 8, 1846.

My dear Friend,—In about a fortnight I hope to send you the score of the first part of my Oratorio (with the exception of some of the Solo numbers), that is to say, considerably more than one half of it. The Choruses of the second part will, I trust, be in your hands in June, the rest to follow early in July. I should much like Bartholomew to make the translation, with Klingemann’s occasional advice. Could that be managed? Then I absolutely require a first-rate high baritone. Can such a one be found? And what I most require now is an answer to my last letter, saying that you are all well and happy, and thinking of me.

Yours ever,

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.

Leipzig, May 11, 1846.

My dear Friend,—I see by Mr. Moore’s letter, which you enclosed, that he would rather have the parts printed. I have no objection; but the question arises whether an English firm would be ready to publish them under the conditions that Simrock agreed to; namely, that any alterations I might think necessary should be made in the plates, even if that necessitated new ones being engraved. Will you be so kind as to talk this point over with Mr. Buxton, of Ewer & Co., to whom I should best like to give the manuscript for publication. As there are so many copies required for Birmingham (42 Sopranos, 20 Violins, etc.), I have no doubt of his assent.

Then there is another point on which I want your help, or at least your advice. I mean the question of terms for the work (Choral edition, etc.). What do you think I ought to ask for it in England? I wished Mr. Buxton to make me an offer, as I had had some applications for the copyright from other quarters; and whilst giving him the preference, I should not like him to be the loser, or to lose myself by the transaction. He, however, leaves the matter entirely in my hands, and says he will be agreeable to whatever I propose. What do you think, in justice to him and to myself, I ought to ask? Please give me your advice; this matter ought to be settled before the parts are printed. But now please let me have definite instructions by return of post whether I am to send the score only, or a copy of the parts also. If, as Mr. Moore desires, I am to send the latter, that will not prevent my forwarding the score of the first part of the Oratorio to you in ten or twelve days; so that the translation can be made from that, whilst the parts can be copied from my manuscript.

If after all there is no baritone to be got, the whole thing falls to the ground and the Oratorio cannot be performed. Are neither Pischek, Staudigl, or Oberhöfer possible, as the French say? The latter, I believe, does not know English; so it rests with the two others. Good-by. Don’t forget instructions about house-hunting in Leipzig. Please copy the enclosed; it too concerns the Birmingham Festival. Excuse trouble and haste.

As ever yours,

Felix M. B.

P. S. How would it be if I had the orchestra parts printed in Germany and brought them over with me? The vocal parts, at any rate, would have to be printed in England, on account of the English words.

Of the singers named, it was Staudigl who was eventually selected to sing the part of Elijah at Birmingham.

In answer to Mendelssohn’s question, what terms he should make for the copyright of his Oratorio, Moscheles writes:—

“I quite feel the responsibility of advising you in the matter; for if fifty years hence it is said, ‘Mendelssohn received only so many pounds sterling for this grandest of works, this inexhaustible mine of wealth to the editor, and that at the suggestion of Moscheles,’ my ashes will be disturbed in their rest. Well, well, you will nod your venerable head, and say, ‘Never mind; Moscheles meant well.’

“You do not say what other offers you had, besides that from Buxton. I think you will find him straightforward in his dealings, and ready to recognize that the market value of your productions is constantly increasing. So I should say you might ask £50 more than you did for the ‘Hymn of Praise.’

“One point to take into consideration is whether this work is richer than the other in Solos, these being a better source of income to the publisher than Choruses.”

Moscheles had probably forgotten the fact that Mendelssohn received only £25 for his “Hymn of Praise” from Messrs. Novello. The same firm bought the copyright of his “Elijah,” in June, 1847, for 250 guineas.

It may be interesting to mention here some of the prices given for other works of Mendelssohn by Messrs. Novello. For his music to Sophocles’s “Antigone,” £30 10s.; Duo for Piano and Violin in D, Op. 58, £12 12s.; “Walpurgisnacht,” £24; Music to “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” (not including Overture), £47 5s.; “Hear my Prayer, O Lord,” £4; Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 64, £10 10s.; Book 6 of “Songs without Words,” Op. 67, £25; Trio in D minor for Piano, Violin, and Violoncello, Op. 49, £10 10s.; Trio in C minor for ditto, Op. 66, £20; Six Songs, Op. 71, £20.

Leipzig, May 23, 1846.

My dear Friend,—As I am leaving this evening for the Rhine, and have not yet heard from you in answer to my last letter, I send to-day a complete copy of the first part of my “Elijah” to Messrs. Hüttner & Co., Ewer’s correspondents in Hamburg, to be forwarded to you through Mr. Buxton. I enclose also a copy of the words. This and the score please place at once in Mr. Bartholomew’s hands, for the purposes of translation.

May you find something in my score to please you; and may you at least recognize my good intentions, and reward them with your usual kindness and friendship!

Ever yours,

Felix.

The next letter refers to the following incident: Mendelssohn had conducted the Philharmonic Concerts during the season of the preceding year. On one occasion he arrived late at a rehearsal, owing to unavoidable causes, and was so discourteously received by some of the members of the orchestra that he laid down his baton and refused to proceed. Some of the Directors who were present succeeded, not without difficulty, in pacifying him; the offenders were requested to leave the room, and he was finally persuaded to resume his office.

Leipzig, June 26, 1846.

My dear Friend,—The occasion of these lines is a passage in Mr. Moore’s letter, in which he says: “Nearly the whole of the Philharmonic band are engaged; a few only are left out, who made themselves unpleasant when you were there.”

Now, I strongly object to this restriction; and as I fancy you can exercise your authority in the matter, I address my protest to you, and beg you to communicate it to Mr. Moore. There is nothing I hate more than the reviving of bygone disputes; it is bad enough that they should have occurred. This one of the Philharmonic is, as far as I am concerned, dead and buried, and must on no account have any influence on the selection made for the Birmingham Festival. If men are to be rejected because they are incompetent, that is not my business and I have nothing to say in the matter; but if it is because “they made themselves unpleasant when I was there,” I consider that an injustice, against which I protest. Any further disturbance on the part of these gentlemen, I am sure, is not to be feared. That at least is my belief, shared probably by all concerned. So you will sincerely oblige me by having the selection made exactly as if I were not coming to England. The only consideration that can be shown me is not to take me into consideration at all. You will do me a favor by putting this very strongly to Mr. Moore, and requesting him to let the matter drop. If my wishes are to be complied with, the incident must herewith end. Should it be otherwise, I shall write another dozen letters in protest against what I should consider a spirit of vindictiveness. Excuse all this.

Ever yours,

Felix.

Leipzig, July 12, 1846.

My dear Friend,—In answer to your letter let me say without delay that the last time I passed through Birmingham the touch of the organ appeared to me so heavy that I could not venture to perform upon it in public. If however it is materially improved, I shall be happy to play one of my Sonatas; but I should not wish this to be announced before I had tried the organ myself.

With great pleasure, or rather with—Well, you know what it is to me to sit at the piano with you, and it needs no words to assure you that I am at all times ready. You decide, please, what it shall be; my head is quite full of “Elijah” just now. The Double Concerto of Bach is beautiful, but not brilliant; that of Mozart rather the other way. Anyhow, I will bring the former. But I must really be excused as regards playing a Solo. As it is, I feel the strain of conducting more than I used, and am no longer capable of playing a Solo and conducting a new piece of my own at the same concert. Some other instrumental number had better be put on the programme; that seems to me more appropriate, too, than having two pieces for the piano. Now, please let me know soon the date fixed for the Festival, as Mr. Moore has not yet informed me; also who is going to sing the Solos in my Oratorio. When “Saint Paul” was performed in Birmingham, it was followed by a selection from Handel’s Oratorios; I much disapproved of this, and trust it is not to be the case this time.

Please answer all these questions, and tell me the latest date you can allow for my arrival;