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MENDELSSOHN

FAMILY

YOL. I.THE

MENDELSSOHN FAMILY

(1729-1847)

FROM LETTERS AND JOURNALS

BY

SEBASTIAN HENSEL

WITH EIGHT PORTRAITS FROM DRAWINGS BY WILHELM HENSEL
SECOND REVISED EDITION

TRANSLATED BY CARL KLINGEMANN

AND

AN AMERICAN COLLABORATOR
WITH A NOTICE BY GEORGE GROVE, Esq., D.C.L.

Vol. I.

NEW YORK

HARPER Si BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE

1882Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

All rights reserved.ADVERTISEMENT.

A book on Felix Mendelssohn’s family, in which he
himself is the principal figure, full of new letters and
new characters, and of wit, cleverness, and goodness,
wants no recommendation to the English public.

There are few persons whose intimate correspond-
ence can be laid bare to the extent to which his has
been, without suffering from the process. In his case,
however, the reverse is true ; and of the many new
letters by him here printed, often of a very private
nature, there are few that do not add some new
trait of nobility, goodness, tenderness, or delicacy of
feeling to his portrait. For the history of his works,
and of the development of his genius and talent, the
book is indeed invaluable.

Felix’s letters, however, though the main feature of
the ‘ Mendelssohn Family,’ are by no means its only one.
Not to speak of the early and more historical portion
of these volumes, to the majority of readers Felix’s
father will be a new and unexpected character. Eds
letters from Paris and London abound in humour,
shrewdness, and amusing gossip of that now remote date ;
and those addressed to Fanny on her confirmation and
other occasions will be read with respect and interest byvi

AD VER TISEMENT.

many who differ from him in religion. The mother, too,
is a new and very attractive personality.

The two sisters figure so largely in their letters and
journals that it is unnecessary to do more than allude
to them. They are entirely distinct, and each paints
herself in unmistakable colours. Their journals are full
of observation and ability, and bring a number of dis-
tinguished persons, in various walks of life, painters,
statesmen, musicians, princes, men of business, favour-
ably and characteristically before us.

On the whole, both on its own account and for its
connection with Felix Mendelssohn, this work deserves a
warm welcome from the English reader, to whom it is
now for the first time introduced.

G. GROVE.PREFACE

TO THE

SECOND GERMAN EDITION.

The preface to the first edition of this book was as
follows:—

The work I now offer to the public was originally
undertaken for a very different purpose and from a verj"
different point of view. It was intended to be a bio-
graphy not only of the family but for the family; I
wished my children to know a little more of their fore-
fathers than is generally the case, especially among the
middle classes.

Some few friends saw this ‘ family biography,’
compiled about fifteen years ago, and expressed a wish
to see it published. I have preserved its original form
as much as possible, and hope that it will be read as the
chronicle of a good middle-class family in Germany.

A thorough revision was indeed necessary. Not that
there was anything to conceal: what I have omitted
was either of no interest to the public at large, or too
sacred for publication, as, for instance, my mother’s
letters during her engagement, which are merely re-
ferred to. On the other hand, among the many thou-viii

PREFACE.

sand letters that have passed under my eyes, I have not
found a line which could give offence. Felix Men-
delssohn especially, whenever he was unable to express
approval, preferred to be silent rather than blame. But
how unreserved he was in his admiration! How happy
he was to find among his contemporaries, or his juniors,
a glimpse of talent, or a nature congenial with his own !

One feature has remained of the original, for which,
perhaps, I ought to crave indulgence : I could not make
up my mind to exchange the affectionate terms ‘father,’
‘ mother,’ ‘ grandfather,’ and ‘ grandmother ’ for the
Christian names of such near relatives. It would have
seemed to me unnatural to speak of my mother, in the
narrative, as ‘ Fanny.’ At the head of each letter, how-
ever, I have invariably placed the writer’s name.

As many of Felix Mendelssohn’s letters have been
published already, I have thought it better to give pre-
cedence to those of his parents and sisters. But even of
Felix’s letters, especially those previous to 1830,1 had
a rich store left, and the knowledge of his home and
surroundings is, I think, important for understanding
the development of his genius.

The sources from which I have drawn my# narrative
are chiefly a very rich collection of letters and my
mother’s journals, and for the last dozen years or so
statements made to myself or personal recollections.
Sometimes I have been compelled to admit passages
that have been already printed, because the omission
of them, especially in the case of Felix’s letters, would
have given a fragmentary character to the book. Un-
fortunately I have not been permitted to make use of a
valuable collection of family letters addressed to Felix,PREFACE.

ix

containing a host of interesting details, which would
have filled up many gaps in the narrative.

The portraits are all excellent copies, by the photo-
type process, of my father’s drawings. Of the other
members of the family I have no drawings, or, at least,
no perfect likenesses by my father.

My narrative closes with the year 1847, in which
both Felix and his eldest sister Fanny, my mother, died.
On them the interest of the public was mainly concen-
trated, and they were, besides, the links which bound
together the family, now so widely dispersed.

The demand for a new edition has come with un-
expected rapidity. I was aware from the first that
many alterations were needed, for every suggestion
made by the critics had occurred to my own mind,
even while the book was passing through the press.

The plea I urged for using the familiar appellations
of my parents and grandparents has been disallowed,
and perhaps justly so. Print has a peculiar effect; and
when I saw in type the letters hitherto known to me
only in manuscript, I could look at them from the out-
side as one of the public, and I at once perceived the
impropriety of constantly reminding the reader of my
relationship to the persons introduced in the book.

Again, though I fancied that I had exercised a severe
censorship in admitting or excluding material, I found
that still more must be done in that direction, and
that much of the gossip which would amuse the imme-
diate circle of acquaintance, could have no interest for
the general reader. This was the case especially with
the two Italian tours which followed one another in
rapid succession.X

PREFACE.

My chief labour, therefore, in preparing a new edi-
tion has consisted in expunging whatever could be
omitted without sacrificing characteristic features, and
also whatever related to my own position towards the
persons in question.

Those letters of Felix’s which had been already
published, and have been again printed in my book,
have been subjected to a further process of sifting. On
the other hand, I have been able, among other addi-
tions, to incorporate a number of beautiful letters of
Abraham and Leah Mendelssohn.

Lastly, the abrupt conclusion of the book with the
year 1847 has been frequently regretted, and a wish
expressed that I would trace the further history of the
other chief persons in the book. This task, not an easy
one, I have endeavoured to accomplish in the conclud-
ing chapter.

The present edition, especially the English trans-
lation, is much indebted to Mr. Grove and his elaborate
article on Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy in the ‘ Dic-
tionary of Music and Musicians,’1 which he has kindly
allowed me to use. In reference to this I would speci-
ally allude to the description of Mendelssohn’s personal
appearance, which Mr. Grove compiled for that article
chiefly from the recollection of John Callcott Horsley,
Esq., R.A., one of my uncle’s very intimate friends.
Besides these distinct obligations, Mr. Grove has taken
a lively interest in the progress of the book and the
translation, which I most gratefully acknowledge. To
him I owe the correction of many dates, the orthography
of various names in Felix Mendelssohn’s letters of 1829,
and several other points of interest.

1 Macmillan & Co., London.PREFACE.

xi

To all those who have kindly assisted me in removing
the deficiencies in the first edition I beg to express my
gratitude, but especially to Mr. Walter Eobert Tornow,
who still exhibits the same untiring interest in my work
which he has bestowed upon it from the beginning.

The reception of the book on its first appearance
was all that I could desire. Let me hope that it will
find fresh friends in its new and, I trust, improved
shape.

SEBASTIAN HENSEL.IWi-fii-

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3_g § g*—CONTENTS

OF

THE FIRST VOLUME.

PAGE

Moses Mendelssohn	 1

Joseph and Nathan Mendelssohn..........................31

The Daughters of Moses Mendelssohn	.	.	36

Abraham Mendelssohn Bartholdy .	...	61

Wilhelm Hensel .	.	  95

The Journey to Switzerland............................107

Leipziger Strasse No. 3	  .117

Felix in England, 1829	.	.	.	. . 176

1830-1834 .	  240

Dirichlet .	 309

The Year 1835	.'.................................317

YOL. I.

aYOL. I.

1723-1835.

Blest he, to whom the annals of his fathers
Their gladness and their noble course of life
Are joyful reminiscence, sweetest love,
Himself in humbleness and pride a scion
Of that revered race.

(Goethe, Iphigcnia.')MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

The history of the early youth of great men generally reveals to
us at a single glance the favourable circumstances that have
contributed to their success. Sometimes we discover their
parents themselves to have been persons of eminent character,
sometimes particular teachers have animated the spark
slumbering in the soul of the child, but in almost every case
such men have grown up in the fertile soil of a cultivated
society, rich in educational means. It was not so, however,
with Moses Mendelssohn, and it is difficult to explain, consider-
ing the circumstances under which he grew up, how this man
could have accomplished so gigantic a task under such excep-
tionally unfavourable conditions as we are about to mention.

In the middle of the last century the Jews in Germany
were in a most oppressed condition; although no longer
tortured and pillaged ‘ in majorem Dei gloriam,’ they were
subjected by the law of the State to every possible restriction ;
nearly every career was made inaccessible to them ; in many
towns residence was absolutely forbidden them, in others only a
certain number were permitted to dwell, and even now in many
places a ‘ Jews’ quarter ’ still exists. In one town they were not
allowed to live at the corner of a street, in another only a
certain number of marriages were permitted ; everywhere they
had to pay various imposts, some of an intentionally opprobrious
nature, in addition to the common government taxes. For
instance, under Frederic William I. the Jews of Berlin were
obliged to buy the wild boars killed at the royal hunting
parties,1 and under Frederic the Great every Jew had to purchase,
on the occasion of his marriage, a certain amount of china from
the newly established royal china factory in Berlin, and that
1 Streckfuss, Berlin seit 500 Jahren.

B

VOL. I.2

MOSES MENDELSSOHN

not according to his own choice, but that of the manager of the
factory, who made use of the opportunity to get rid of things
otherwise unsalable. Thus Moses Mendelssohn, a man even
then generally known and honoured, became possessed of twenty
life-sized china apes, some of which are still preserved to the
family.

Nearly the only trade left to the Jews was retail traffic, and
even this not without exceptions. For instance, they were not
allowed to sell groceries, this trade belonging to the guilds ;
there remained therefore only the permission to deal in old
clothes, and in money—a trade called by the opprobrious name
of usury.

Under these unfavourable circumstances the Jewish nation
remained unbroken; no persecution could shake their adher-
ence to the religion and customs of their ancestors. On one
side was everything that could tempt mankind, admission into
society, participation in the affairs of the state, influence; on
the other, only the prospect of enduring a plagued and despised
existence, with no better prospect for their children to the
end of time. A change was, however, to be bought only at
the price of a denial of certain convictions; and through thou-
sands of years the Jewish people have remained steadfast. The
number of those who, without conviction, have embraced the
Christian faith is incalculably small.

But though the nation remained thus unbroken, it would
have been unnatural if the long suppression of all noble
qualities, the long restriction to the lowest and meanest
branches of commerce, and the separation from the great
stream of civilisation had not borne both good and evil fruit.
Some noble qualities were the more richly developed by the
forced concentration of the race—love of family, unbounded
respect of children for their parents, a feeling of clanship,
earnestness in religion, most liberal exercise of charity, and
indefatigable industry in the few branches of human activity
left open to them. That was the bright side of the Jewish
national character as it had been developed in the course of
centuries. But the other side was darkly shadowed: the
nation became petrified, all progress was stopped, it lost all wide1729. CONDITION OF THE JEWS.

3

views; the people had a language of their own, a strange
mixture of Hebrew and German, a peculiar way of wearing
hair, beard, and dress. Their only study except medicine was
that of their own religious books. And as it always happens
when religion withdraws itself from communion with other
intellectual life, the Jewish religion became stagnant, all life
dropped out of its forms, dogmatic subtleties and hairsplittings
were more and more spun out, and he who had mastered these
was considered pious. Their written language was Hebrew,
which in its root and whole character is more widely separated
from modern culture than any 'other ancient language; thus
the single study of the Jews of that period contributed only
more and more to estrange them from modern culture. To
this was added the circumstance of the teachers being for the
most part Polish Jews, who were considered to be better versed
in Scripture than the German. These of course were even less
acceptable to the German Christians than their German brethren,
and thus the gulf already existing became ever wider. A
priestly caste always leans towards intolerance, even when
drawn from the noblest and most highly educated part of a
nation; but how much more so in this case, where it was com-
posed of members of a foreign, ignorant, and uncultured nation.
Persecution of the more enlightened, interdiction of every trace
of education, patient clinging to the standpoint once adopted,
was the task those Polish rabbis had set themselves. They
justly feared that general education would overthrow their
power, and therefore denounced every deviation from estab-
lished custom, good or bad, as a sacrilege. To speak German
correctly, to read a German book, was heresy.

Such was the state of things when Moses Mendelssohn was
born, on the 6th of September 1729. His father, Mendel
Dessau, was employed by the Jewish community of Dessau as
clerk and teacher in the primary school, that is to say, he was
a poor Jew, occupying a subordinate position in a small duchy
of central Germany. His home was a very poor one, but old
Mendel belonged, at least as far as was possible in the then
state of Judaism, to the cultured few, and kept his son at his
studies with unbending severity. When the boy was hardly4

MOSES MENDELSSOHN

five years old, he had learnt all his father could teach him,
and was sent to a kind of superior school. Thither the father
carried him, a little boy, protected from the biting cold by
only an old threadbare cloak, before the dawn of morning on a
bitterly cold winter day. His new teacher, Eabbi Frankel, was
then considered a learned and unprejudiced Jew; the child
soen clung with devoted love to him, and became his most
zealous pupil. Not long afterwards Eabbi Frankel was called
to the post of chief rabbi at Berlin, and the critical moment of
Moses’ life arrived. His father’s scanty means seemed to make
further study impossible, and the boy was on the point of
becoming a Jew pedlar, condemned to earn his bread by
tramping through the villages with a pack upon his shoulders.
But happily the almost insuperable difficulties which lay in the
path to knowledge, the probability of years of want, the thought
of being cast among strange and unfriendly surroundings, did
not shake the boy’s resolution. At the age of fourteen the
small, shy, misshapen lad left his home and entered Berlin
through the Eosenthal gate, at that time the only one through
which strange Jews were allowed to pass, that he might once
more be near his beloved master, who, he dimly felt, might
be able to show him the way to a higher education. Years
of the bitterest want followed; his poverty was so great
that on the loaf he bought every week as his only food he
marked his daily allowances with lines, knowing that if he had
eaten more he would have had nothing left at the end of the
week. He lived in a garret, and got a dinner now and then
at the house of Hermann Bamberger ; on the Sabbath and
festival days he dined with Eabbi Frankel, who also helped him
to earn a few pence a week by copying; for study there re-
mained but little time, and most people in his situation would
have had even less inclination for it. Such were the phy-
sical difficulties; but others of a different kind, greater and
more insuperable, rose up in his way. The Christians of those
times considered the Jews as little their equals in mind and
faculties as in our days the white inhabitants of America regard
the negroes. Social intercourse between Jews and Christians
was not to be thought of. In consequence, all Christian sourcesHIS YOUTH AND POVERTY.

5

of information were entirely closed against the Jews, and even
if the Christians had not made the use of these impossible to
them, the intolerance of the Jewish elders and rabbis would
have rendered Christian vigilance needless. There were no
Jewish sources of education except that intercourse with the
few cultured Jews which Mendelssohn eagerly sought. He had
to teach himself almost entirely without any systematic aid from
others ; and he was even obliged to keep his studies strictly secret
for fear of being expellee^ from Berlin by his own brethren.
Even a long time afterwards, when he was at the height of his
glory and in the maturity of his manhood, they anathematised
him. Of this circumstance Lessing writes: ‘ I look on him
as the future glory of his nation, if his own brethren, who always
have been instigated by an unhappy spirit of persecution against
men of his kind, will but let him reach maturity.’ In a word,
he had against him everything that the world contains of nar-
rowness, sectarianism, and intolerance on the part of Chris-
tians as well as Jews.

In the beginning Mendelssohn had no further aim than
that of gaining information for himself; but a great mission
of reformation was in store for him, and was soon to open.
Like the original Moses, he found a degenerate, neglected,
enslaved nation, though in a different period, and under
essentially different circumstances. His clear glance informed
him that, in consequence, other means had to be employed. At
the time of the great legislator, the whole nation was concen-
trated in the Delta of Egypt; the conditions of life and pro-
perty were simpler; nomad life and the migration of whole
nations were not unfrequent. Thus Moses was enabled to lead
his people from Egypt to Palestine and to regenerate them by
a new legislation. But in Mendelssohn’s time the Jews were
scattered all over the world, and had by perpetual intercourse
grown closely absorbed in the established nations. It was no
longer practicable to organise an emigration en masse, and it
is worth reading how decidedly Mendelssohn rejected the plan,
designed by a man in high position, of founding a Jewish empire
in Palestine, even though it was one of the articles of his faith
that the Jews would not always be dispersed, but would ‘ at a6

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

future day ’ be re-established by the Messiah as a free nation in
the land of their fathers. He felt perfectly assured that this
‘ future day ’ was still future. At the same time Mendelssohn
saw no reason why the Mosaic legislation should be attacked.
It had proved efficient in former days, and he thought it
suitable enough for his own time to be worth preserving.
Thus though the Jews were to remain Jews, and to remain in
the land in which they were settled, yet Mendelssohn found a
Palestine into which to introduce them—cultured society. He
first exhibited in himself the type of an educated Jew, and
made this attractive enough to Christians to obtain admission
for himself into all circles. He then made the Jews fit to
follow his example, and enter through the breach that he had
made. And the fate of Moses was also that of the great reformer :
he did not see accomplished the entrance of his people into the
land to which he had conducted them. The work continues to
this day, and the Jews are daily gaining a more assured and
honourable position in society, art, and science; and it is not
too much for me to say that every German Jew who now dis-
tinguishes himself anywhere owes the power of doing more or
less directly to Moses Mendelssohn.

About the year 1744 he took the first decided step on the
path of improvement: he learnt German. This was a very
dangerous undertaking, and had to be done with the greatest
secrecy. Another Jew, whom Mendelssohn was teaching, was
detected in procuring a German book for him, and was im-
mediately expelled from Berlin by the Jewish authorities.
Representations were unsuccessful, but Mendelssohn afterwards
secured a place for him at Halberstadt. His association with a
few educated Jewish medical men helped him to get on; for
instance, Dr. Risch for about half a year taught him Latin for a
quarter of an hour daily, but he owed nearly everything to his
own iron will and application. 41 have never been to any uni-
versity,’ he writes in after-days, 4 neither have I ever heard a
lecture, and one of the greatest difficulties I had to surmount
was that I had to obtain everything by my own effort and
industry.’

This life lasted till 1750, when he entered the family of Mr.HIS APPETITE FOR KNOWLEDGE.

7

Bernhard, ovmer of a silk factory, as tutor. The hardest times
of trial were over ; at least he had no longer to struggle for his
daily bread, but was under the protection of a rich Berlin Jew,
highly regarded by his brethren, and could now devote him-
self freely to his studies. He eagerly devoured everything;
he occupied himself with everything he found; in a wonder-
fully short time he mastered old and new languages, mathe-
matics, and chiefly philosophical questions of all kinds. But,
in consequence of this way of working by himself, great de-
ficiencies soon showed themselves in his knowledge. He always
only studied what pleased him or what came into his way
through chance acquaintances. Thus he afterwards complains
bitterly of his limited knowledge of history. c What do I know
of history ? ’ he writes to Abbot in the year 1765. i None of
the things called by that name, natural and cosmical history,
political history, learned history, have I ever been able to
master, and I always yawn when I have to read something
historical, uuless the style of writing interests me. I believe
that the knowledge of history is never to be gained without
teaching.’ And in another letter we find : ‘ Tell me, dear
friend, how I can manage to form an idea of the history of
old and new times. Till now I have always regarded history
as a study more fit for the citizen than for man, and be-
lieved that one who has no country of his own could not
profit by history. But now I see that the history of political
constitutions is strongly linked to the history of mankind, and
that nobody ought to be altogether ignorant of either. But
where ought I to begin ? Shall I go to the source, or shall 1
content myself with those compendiums which are now so
much the fashion ? And of these, which would you recom-
mend ? Do not forget to answer this question.’ We must
own that the mental nourishment furnished in those universal
compendiums of history could not be to the taste of such a
mind, and we cannot be surprised at his yawning over them.

But the chief reason why Mendelssohn gave his studies a
different direction was this: history was for him the study of
the citizen, and the Jew of the eighteenth century was admitted
to no citizenship. Every page of history showed him the op-8

MOSES MENDELSSOHN

pression of his nation; there was no bright prospect to be
found in those days, no sign of coming improvement. The
empire of thought, the ideal domain of philosophy, became
therefore his sphere of action. Thither he was, moreover, at-
tracted by the natural acuteness of the Jews, by the love of the
often abstruse Talmudic speculations to which Mendelssohn
had devoted himself during his life at Dessau and the earlier
part of his life at Berlin. Here he had to avoid a dangerous
rock; he might easily have become a shallow cosmopolitan, for
he could not consider himself as a citizen in a state which
allowed him no field of action. On the other hand, Jewish ties
made him at home in every country of the world, and nothing
could have been more natural than to neglect all political
and national barriers, and to devote himself wholly to visionary
cosmopolitan speculation devoid of every substantial basis.
How many men of an ideal turn of mind before and after
him have gone astray in consequence of this mistake!

Between this extreme and the other equally dangerous one
of utterly ignoring all higher ideal ends, entangling himself in
the web of every-day affairs, and sinking down to the level of a
mere individual in the community, Mendelssohn’s discreet and
harmonious nature chose a station equally fortunate and grand,
far above the views of his time—the position of a German.
Uninfluenced by the shining but hollow phantom of cosmo-
politanism, unseduced by the consolidated power of the young
and rising Prussia, which was then striking down the feeble
remains of the old German empire, he proceeded to the
furthest limit of practical action, in standing up for a German
nationality. He appeared publicly as a German Jew, and thus
became the living example of what his brethren had to struggle
for—as a German by writing for the ‘ Bibliothek der schonen
Wissenschaften und freien Kiinste,’ and especially for the
‘ Litteraturbriefe,’ as a Jew in the famous Lavater controversy.

The 6 Letters about Literature ’ owed their origin to Nicolai,
but Lessing and Mendelssohn were the soul of the enterprise;
they gave them the decided classical character of an unbend-
ing matter-of-fact criticism. The fashionable admiration and
imitation of the French was attacked unsparingly, and theLAVA TER.

9

foundation of a truly German national literature was firmly
laid.

The ‘Litteraturbriefe ’ were the precursors of the Hamburg
‘ Dramaturgic ’ and of the influence of Schiller and Goethe.

The best proof of the intrepidity shown by Mendelssohn
in these letters is an article upon the (poesies diverses ’
of Frederic the Great, in which the Jew, hardly tolerated in
Berlin, censures the great king, puts forward the principle
that every author must submit to criticism, and reproaches the
king for despising the German language and preferring the
French. This affair nearly brought Mendelssohn into a very
disagreeable situation, but the danger was avoided by the mag-
nanimous conduct of Frederic. The ‘ Litteraturbriefe ’ deservedly
excited much interest, and after their appearance Mendelssohn
was universally acknowledged as a champion of the cause of
national German literature.

The over-zealous attempt of a Christian clergyman to con-
vert him soon afterwards gave him an opportunity of making
an open profession of his Jewish convictions. This man was
Lavater, who during his travels in the year 1763 had made
the acquaintance of Mendelssohn, and who, like all others, had
been deeply moved by the charm of his personal influence. In
his celebrated book on physiognomy he gives the following
description of Mendelssohn : ( Probably you know the silhouette.
I can hardly withhold it from you; it is very dear to me, very
speaking. Can you say, can you for one moment pretend to say,
“ Perhaps a fool ? A coarse, vulgar soul! ” Let the man who
could say such a thing, or even could allow another to say it, shut
my book at once and throw it away, and let him allow me to
prevent my thoughts from judging him. I rejoice to see these
outlines. My glance descends from the noble curve of the fore-
head to the prominent bones of the eye. In the depth of this
eye a Socratic soul resides. The decided shape of the nose, the
magnificent transition from the nose to the upper lip, the pro-
minence of both lips, neither projecting beyond the other—
oh, how all this harmonises and makes the divine truth of phy-
siognomy sensible and visible.’

But the ‘ divine truth of physiognomy ’ did not prevent itsIO

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

enthusiastic prophet from being thoroughly mistaken in Men-
delssohn. In the year 1769 he published a translation of
Bonnet’s evidence of Christianity, dedicated it to Mendelssohn,
and challenged him publicly to refute the book or—to embrace
the Christian faith.

Mendelssohn’s position -was a painful one. He had not the
athletic nature of Lessing, who would have rejoiced in such a
combat with a conceited churchman, in exposing him to public
contempt, like Golze, and crushing him in the sight of the
whole world. Mendelssohn had always avoided controversies
on religious subjects, and now a controversy was publicly forced
upon him, in which he could not remain silent, and yet if he
spoke must attack the Christian religion., Quarrels still more
disagreeable, and in his position really dangerous, were sure
to follow, if he spoke openly. But how could he speak other-
wise, unless he sacrificed his holiest convictions ?

Lavater’s step can only be explained by religious prejudice.
He truly loved Mendelssohn ; he held him in high respect as an
eminent writer and an excellent man: but he firmly believed
that such a man must either be certainly, secretly, and in his
heart a Christian, or at least favourably disposed towards the
sacred truths of the ‘ only saving faith,’ and anxious for an oppor-
tunity of professing them. He longed for the glory of having
afforded him the opportunity of a public declaration, of ascrib-
ing the conversion of Mendelssohn to himself, and of leading such
a soul to heaven; but the result was widely different from what
Lavater and the Christians of his creed had expected. Men-
delssohn answered—and his answer was, that he was a Jew by
inmost conviction, that Bonnet’s theses had not shaken his
faith, that he even felt himself able to defend every religion
founded on revelation by similar proofs. He did not annihilate
his adversary, as Lessing would have done, but he let the sun of
his clear mind shine so victoriously, so gently, and with such
persuasion, that the mantle of Christian charity sank from the
shoulders of his adversary, and the triumph of Mendelssohn was
complete. Lavater saw with surprise how wrong he had been,
and apologised most humbly. The adversaries remained friends,
but a number of petty minds, who partly had rejoiced in theCHOICE OF PROFESSION.

ii

expectation of piquant revelations, and partly had hoped for
the certain humiliation of the despised Jew, now took up the
quarrel, which was none of theirs, and attacked Mendelssohn.
They were disappointed, for Mendelssohn, who had given one
decisive answer to an adversary somewhat worthy of himself,
took no notice of the small barking curs, and wrote : ‘ In this
matter I do not care what summonses, requests, attacks, refu-
tations may come, from whoever likes and as many as they like,
polite or not polite. I shall not answer till I believe that I can-
not employ my time more usefully ; ’ and in another place: ‘ He
who so openly shows his intention to rouse me shall find it
difficult to succeed.’

However disagreeable this affair was to him, it proved very
serviceable to Judaism: never had the Jewish cause been so
gloriously defended, or by such a champion. Mendelssohn was a
‘Jew by conviction ’; this was a fact, and doubts like those
of Lavater could no longer be entertained. Christians had to
acknowledge the disagreeable fact that so distinguished a man
was a Jew. Mendelssohn writes on a similar occasion : ‘ Trescho,
Ziegra, and Bahrdt are wild with anger, that non-Christians
should possess the power of reasoning. Happy for us, that God
is more merciful than Trescho, Ziegra, and Bahrdt.’

Meanwhile the time had come for Mendelssohn to choose a
profession. For some time he thought of availing himself of
his profound Talmudic and other knowledge to become a rabbi.
But he probably was influenced by the consideration that in this
position many circumstances would deter him from his work of
reform, the plan of which at that time was already completely
settled. He preferred to remain absolutely free in this respect,
and in order to gain a livelihood accepted the place of a
book-keeper in the silk factory of the same Bernhard whose
children he had educated. Time enough was left to him for his
ever-increasing literary occupations, and yet he had not to look
to his pen as a means for earning his bread. His independence,
which he had always regarded as most important, was assured;
even during the seven years of privation of the first Berlin
period he had never allowed himself to beg pecuniary assistance
from rich Jews. He used to say, ‘ I can found my claims to12

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

assistance on nothing but my desire of learning, and what is
that to others ? ’ He retained his situation at the Bernhard
factory to the end of his life, and employed his leisure in
unceasing literary pursuits.

One of his very first works gives a striking view of his
relation to his Christian contemporaries. This was ‘ Phsedo,’
partly a translation of Plato’s dialogue of the same name, partly
a modern adaptation of it to the philosophy of his own time,
treating of the proofs of the immortality of the soul. Hardly
any book of the period made such a sensation; it was translated
into nearly all the modern languages, and, short as it was, gave
its author a place among the classical writers of Germany.
There is a certain relationship between the Socrates depicted by
Mendelssohn in his ‘ Phaedo ’ and himself. Thus we read: 4 On
one side he had to conquer the prejudices of his own education,
to expose the ignorance of others, to confute sophistry, to bear
the calumny and abuse of his adversaries, to struggle with
poverty, to oppose the established power, and, most difficult of
all, to disperse the dark terrors of superstition. On the other
side he had to spare the weak minds of his fellow-citizens, to
avoid scandal, and to preserve the good influence which even the
most absurd religion exercises on the morals of the simple-
minded.

‘He overcame all these difficulties with the wisdom of a
true philosopher, with the patience of a saint, the unselfish
virtue of a philanthropist and the resolution of a hero, at the
expense and with the loss of all worldly advantages and pleasures.
Yet these higher duties of a citizen of the world did not hinder
him from fulfilling the common duties towards his country,’ etc.
Truly this description suits Moses Mendelssohn even better
than Socrates.

Mendelssohn’s circle of acquaintance now grew larger; in
enumerating his friends, we should have to mention nearly all
the great men of the time: d’Argens, Maupertuis, Nicolai,
Herder, Kant, T. H. Jacobi, the Duke of Brunswick, Campe,
Dalberg, Hamann, Michaelis, Lavater, are some of the names
we find in his correspondence. Those who came into per-
sonal contact with him were so struck by the charm of hisLESSING.

13

manners as to forget all prejudices, even though they came
back with more intense power afterwards, when his presence
no longer exercised its influence; it is only thus that we can
explain the unfair proceedings of some, such as Herder and
Hamann, against him. But first of all—first in regard to the
greatness of the man himself, to the sincerity and duration of
his friendship, and the result to which it led—we must name
Lessing.

They are said to have been brought together by the game
of chess, but they soon discovered the close affinity of their
minds, and all their later doings were influenced by their mutual
intercourse. We have already mentioned how they worked
together for the 4 Litteraturbriefe ’; their correspondence bears
testimony how they understood friendship. Mendelssohn espe-
cially often reminds Lessing of his faults, and each acknow-
ledged in the other an ever-present judge of his deepest thoughts.
We need only mention the touching conclusion of Lessing’s
last letter to Mendelssohn, written hut a few weeks before
his own death :—

4 On that little note of yours which Dr. Flies lately brought
me I am still ruminating with delight—the strongest expres-
sion in this case is the noblest. And truly, dear friend, I want
such a letter now and then, if I am not to become quite
melancholy. I do not believe you think me a man longing
only for praise. But the coldness that the world exhibits
towards some men, who never can satisfy it, is, though not
killing, certainly freezing. I am not at all astonished that you
shpuld not approve of all I have lately written. Nothing ought
to have pleased you, for nothing was written especially for you.
Only the remembrance of our better days may have deceived
you here and there. I too was then a slender, healthy young
tree, though now but a gnarled old rotten stump ! Alas, dear
friend, life’s drama is over 1 yet I should like to speak with you
once more! ’

Lessing has erected the most beautiful monument to his
friend in his ‘Nathan the Wise.’ This may have partly
originated in Lavater’s request to Mendelssohn to embrace the
Christian faitb. Most characters in4 Nathan’ have undoubtedly14

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

been taken from the circle of Mendelssohn’s household, and
above all the noble, judicious, mild, and tranquil character of
Nathan himself is an exact portrait of Moses Mendelssohn.
The dervish is an imitation of Wolf, a Jewish teacher, who was
often seen in Mendelssohn’s house, and who instructed his
children ; and Joseph, the eldest son of Mendelssohn, believed
that the parallel might be continued much farther.

It was also Mendelssohn’s intention, after Lessing’s death, to
raise a worthy literary monument to the memory of his friend;
but unhappily it was never finished, and the beautiful plan,
which he would have been able to accomplish better than any
one else, remained a fragment. We only possess a short sketch
of Lessing’s character in a letter to Hennings: ‘ I am now
occupied by one only thought, the death of Lessing. It does
not sadden me or make me melancholy, but he is always present
like the image of a beloved one. I fall asleep with him, I
dream of him, I awake with him, and I thank Providence for the
benefit of having known him so early and enjoyed his friend-
ship so long. The world knows his literary value, but few know
the treasure of his friendship. I even find that his moral value
is not sufficiently acknowledged by many. The idea of virtue
and morality is itself subjected to fashion, and he who cannot
adapt himself to the fashionable ideas of his time, is misunder-
stood and calumniated by his contemporaries. But one thing
cannot be doubted: if ever a man was better than he appeared
in his writings, it was Lessing. He knew how to win over in
one hour of personal intercourse most of those who had been
opposed to him, and yet as far as my experience goes never a
word of intentional flattery was uttered by him. He even had
the—how shall I call it ?—the oddity of being a professed
enemy of superficial politeness. His social virtues rather con-
sisted in genuine sympathy, earnest complaisance, a thorough
want^of selfishness and conceit, and a kind way of entering into
anybody’s views with such a liberal display of his own ideas,
that people in a conversation with him thought themselves
more ingenious than they really were, and yet deeply felt
Lessing’s superiority. Although sarcastic and bitter against
every fool who imagined himself alone to have discovered truth,LESSING’S DEATH.

15

he was amiable and modest towards every real seeker for truth,
and always ready to help him from his stores of knowledge.’

To conclude our description of the beautiful friendship
between the two men, we will quote the letter which Mendels-
sohn wrote shortly after Lessing’s death to his brother :—

‘ Not a word, dear friend, of our loss, of the great blow our
hearts have suffered. The memory of the man we have lost is
too sacred for me to profane it by complaints. He now only
appears to me in a light that spreads quiet and refreshing
serenity on everything. No, I do not calculate what I have
lost by his death. From the depth of my heart I thank
Providence for having allowed me to know so early, in the
bloom of my youth, a man, who has formed my soul, who was
to me a friend and judge in all my actions, in every line I
wrote, and whom I shall think of as a friend and judge every
time I shall have to take an important step. If this considera-
tion be somewhat tinged with melancholy, it is perhaps
from remorse, that I did not avail myself sufficiently of his
guidance, that I was not greedy enough for his instructive com-
panionship, that I have let many an hour pass away in which I
might have enjoyed his conversation. Ah ! his conversation
was a plentiful source, from which incessant new ideas of the
good and beautiful could be drawn, and which he literally gave
away like worthless water for anybody’s use. The gentleness
with which he imparted his ideas sometimes nearly made me
forget his merit, for they did not seem to cost any effort, and
he had a way sometimes of so mixing them up with mine
that I found it difficult to distinguish them. This was
altogether the difference between his liberality and the
narrowness of many, who, though rich, let you feel that you
axe under their obligation; but he spurred one’s application,
and made you earn what he gave you.

£ Considering all things, my dear friend, your brother has
departed just at the right time, not only in the system of the
universe, where nothing can happen at a really wrong time,
but in this over-narrow sphere with its tiny diameter.
Fontenelle says of Copernicus, “ He made known his new
system and died.” The biographer of your brother can withi6

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

equal propriety say, He wrote “Nathan the Wise” and died. I
cannot imagine any intellectual work surpassing “Nathan,” as far
as “Nathan ” in my eyes surpasses all that he had written before.
He could not rise higher without arriving at a region beyond
the reach of our mortal sight. Now, like the disciples of the
Prophet, we stand and gaze on the place whence he vanished
into the skies. Only a few weeks before his death I had occa-
sion to write to him: he ought not to wonder at the greater
number of his contemporaries failing to appreciate the merit
of this work ; fifty years after his death posterity will have
enough to do, and ruminate over and digest it. He was indeed
more than a generation in advance of his century.’

To return, however, to Mendelssohn’s sphere of action.
Although through the Lavater controversy he had openly
proclaimed himself the champion of Judaism, nothing positive
for the Jews had yet been done. He now began his work of
reform, taking as a model his own course of education, which
had proved so efficient. First, German had to be learnt. The
excellent remarks upon the nature of language in the ‘ Jeru-
salem ’ show how deeply Mendelssohn had considered the sub-
ject. In order to make German familiar to Jews as Jews, he
translated from their own sacred writings the five books of
Moses, the Psalms, and the Song of Solomon into that
language. Others were to have followed, his plan being to go
through the whole of the Old Testament in like manner, but
death overtook him in the middle of his task. These books
in the German tongue were printed partly in German, partly
in Hebrew characters, to promote gradual familiarity with the
German language, and at the same time to afford Christians
an opportunity of reading a translation guiltless of theological
or Christian interpretations. His own view of the Scripture is
indicated by what he says in a letter to Michaelis: ‘ I have my-
self translated about twenty Psalms into German, and was not
disinclined to publish them as “ Specimens of the Lyric Poetry of
the Hebrews.” I must confess to being very little satisfied with
any of the translations of the Psalms which have come under
my notice; with the poetic versions still less than the prose.
Even where they now and then hit upon the idea, theTRANSLATIONS AND PREFACES.

17

peculiarity of the Hebraic poetic art is spoilt by the rhyming
system of occidental poetry. I feel assured that you will treat
the Psalms as poetry, without regard to the prophecies or
mysticism which Christian and Jewish expounders have found
only because they looked for them, and which they have looked
for only because they were neither philosophers nor critics. It
is perhaps dangerous openly to combat these deeply rooted pre-
judices ; only, if we are to read the Psalms with rational edifi-
cation, we must some day tread this path. The plain meaning
of the Scriptures has been long enough obscured by mystical
interpretations.

The translation was a difficult undertaking. Orthodox
members of both religions were naturally displeased with
Mendelssohn’s liberal and unprejudiced conception, and it was
to be expected the Jewish rabbis and Talmudists especially
would set heaven and earth in motion again both translation
and translator. But they found in Mendelssohn a well-matched
adversary, whose former Talmudic studies now stood him in
good stead. The translations soon found a large public, and
still form the foundation of all Jewish education of youth.

Other highly influential works followed. He had a transla-
tion made of Rabbi Manasseh Ben Israel’s ‘ Vindiciae Judseorum,’
a work written for Cromwell in the year 1656, and wrote a
preface thereto. This preface, though only twenty-two pages
long, contains views far in advance of the standpoint of that
time, expressed in such a finished style that it may well be
reckoned as a pearl among his works. It was followed by
‘Jerusalem, or Religious Power and Judaism,’ a great work,
worthily ranking alongside of the preface just mentioned, in
which the questions there touched upon are further developed,
and which may be considered in a manner as Mendelssohn’s
politico-religious testament. ‘ Separation of Church and State ’
is his concise demand: he has left it to be fulfilled by the
nineteenth century. According to his philosophic nature he
deduces each successive step from speculative principles, and
thus puts his whole argument out of reach of political or
party controversy. Mendelssohn, peace-loving as he was, never
expressed special political opinion, at least not publicly,

VOL. I.	CMOSES MENDELSSOHN.

18 .

although his views as^ from his usual mode of thought was to
he expected, were decidedly free.

The last years of his life were occupied by a most aggravat-
ing dispute concerning Lessing’s philosophical tenets. But he
knew how to draw honey out of even such poisonous flowers as
these. The 4 Morning Hours ’ owes its existence to this contro-
versy. If we call { Jerusalem ’ the politico-religious testament
of Mendelssohn, we may call the 4 Morning Hours ’ his philo-
sophical one. It had at the same time an amiable purpose,
being designed for the instruction of his children, principally
Joseph, the eldest, and a number of young people 4 of precious
mental gifts and still better hearts,’ who daily gathered round
him.

With regard to Mendelssohn’s special philosophical activity,
it is undeniable that he did not belong to the number of great
philosophers who have struck out new paths for themselves.

Of his relations to Lessing and Nicolai, Erdmann observes,
4 What was never doubted by their contemporaries, that these
three rank together as friends and companions in one work,
is in our days regarded by many of Lessing’s admirers
as a depreciation of Lessing. Partly they are right; for it
is evident that Lessing, subjectively and objectively, takes
quite a different position from that of the other two. But
only partly, for first of all they mistake the position of the
three men when they regard Lessing simply as imparting and
the other two as receiving. It can be proved that many of
those ideas made famous in their development by Lessing were
first expressed by Mendelssohn. It is asserted by Lachmann
that even with regard to language Lessing must have gained
much through intercourse with one who had learnt pure
German not as a child but with full consciousness. Secondly,
they overlook that Lessing died in the very year when Kant’s
‘Critique of Pure Eeason’ appeared, and that therefore the
conflict which had occupied his whole life was carried on only
against principles which were becoming obsolete ; at the very
time, indeed, that he was providentially prevented from carrying
out his intentions of attacking Goethe’s 4 Werther.’ This would
hardly, as Nicolai thought, have discredited Goethe in the eyeRELATIONS TO KANT AND TO BAUMGARTEN. 19

of posterity as much as Klotz. On the other hand, Mendelssohn
felt called upon, directly after Lessing’s death, to state his ideas
of Kant and Spinoza in opposition to Jacobi, that is, to treat
of men who stood partly outside of, partly above, the range of
thought of the eighteenth century, to which Mendelssohn
essentially belonged.

In connection with Mendelssohn’s relation to Kant, it is
a remarkable coincidence that both competed, in the year
1763, for the academical prize, which Mendelssohn carried off
with his Essay on Evidence. Subsequently, indeed, Kant passed
him by along way; and when in the year 1782-S3 the 6 Critique
of Pure Reason’ appeared, Mendelssohn frankly acknowledged
that, accustomed as he was to the mild light of the Wolf-
Baumgarten-Leibnitz School of Philosophy, he felt himself in-
capable of following the great Konigsberg philosopher. The two
men continued in lasting friendly intercourse, and Kant was a
thorough admirer of the delicacy of perception, fine style, and
fearless zeal for religious freedom of his former rival. >

Erdmann, in his sketch of the History of Philosophy (§
493), states Mendelssohn’s position amongst his contemporaries
in philosophy. He says: ‘ The principal difference between
Mendelssohn and Baumgarten, or the other metaphysicians of
the old school, is in his method of treatment. He insists not
only on German but cultivated, good German. Plato is in his
eyes such a great philosopher much less on account of the con-
tents of his teaching than on account of his brilliant diction.
Not strict philosophic treatment, but the style of cultured con-
versation, ' is his ideal; which accounts for the epistolary or
conversational form into which he so willingly drops, even
where another form had originally been chosen.

4 However much he insists upon distinct ideas, however much
he regrets that imitation of the French which has reduced men
to writing for ladies and to neglecting solid knowledge, still he
shows plainly enough that he is no university-educated learned
pedant, that he chooses a middle place between metaphysi-
cian and bel esprit, and writes not especially for one school
but for the world. Writes about what ? Not one of the
subjects concerning which we have spoken as possessing20

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

an interest for philosophers exclusively has he left untouched,
and by this versatility alone he takes such a high position
among these drawing-room philosophers, not taking into
account that it is he who above all (like Protagoras among
the Sophists) reminded us of the fact that the chief object
of philosophy is man.’

Mendelssohn’s outward life we have ceased to record since
he entered Bernhard’s silk factoiy as book-keeper. This com-
mercial occupation (at a later period he carried on the factory
independently, and after the death of Bernhard became a partner
in the business) was often irksome and unpleasant to him, when
he had some learned subject in his head; and his letters are full
of complaints. ‘ The whole day I hear so much useless talk,
hear and do so many frivolous, tiring, stupefying things, that it is
no small benefit to me in the evening to converse with a sen-
sible being,’ he writes to a friend. In this and all other re-
spects he pours out his heart most copiously to LessiDg. 4 This
tiresome, oppressive business! It drags me to the earth and
devours the strength of my best years. Like a pack-ass I plod
through life with a load on my back; and unfortunately self-
love whispers in my ear, that perhaps nature intended me
for a racehorse.’ And again in another place : (A good book-
keeper is certainly an uncommon creature, and deserves a very
high reward, for he must resign wit, perception, and sense,
and become a mere block of wsood, in order to keep books pro-
perly. Does not such sacrifice for the sake of money deserve the
highest compensation ? How do I chance upon such a thought
to-day ? you ask. You could not well guess that it is through
H. von Kleist’s new poems. I had them sent to me this
morning at 8 o’clock, intending to give our dear Nicolai an un-
expected pleasure by reading them with him. But I was pre-
vented—the tiresome people! What is your business, friend ?
And yours, good man, and yours, neighbour ? Leave me alone
for to-day, I really can’t. “ But it is not a holiday ? ” Not
exactly, but I am ill; you don’t mind, come again to-morrow.
These people obliged me, but my principal did not, for I got
work to do till midday. I read a bit here and there during my
work, and then I found how hard it is at once to be a book-DAILY DISTRACTIONS.

21

deeper and to have feelings. I began to think of literature
and commerce together, and in the midst of my books my
thoughts took a flight worthy of any ode. I cursed my posi-
tion, sent the poems to our squire, who lives on his income,
alas ! not unenvied, and got cross.’

Although Mendelssohn had so much worry with business,
it was not unfavourable to his health; indeed, during an ill-
ness of several years, when all mental exertion, even letter-
writing, was forbidden, it was a benefit to work a little in his
business; for absolute idleness would have been death to him.
Besides this, one may ascribe to this hard substratum of mental
activity that practicality, that regard for the possibly attainable,
that ready adoption of the most suitable means, which are such
characteristic peculiarities of Mendelssohn. The active life of a
merchant is hostile to all floating in fantastic, airy regions ; it
gave him knowledge of men as they really are, and of the means
by which men are worked upon. It is very questionable if Men-
delssohn could have given so practical an answer to the 4 man
of position ’ with his Palestine project, if he had not as a mer-
chant remained in close connection with the world, or that
he would have written such sentences as the following: 41 am
only too conscious what small influence my words or my repre-
sentations can have upon the world in general. My sphere is
limited to a few friends, and, since I have had to educate
children, has narrowed even more. Outside this sphere I neither
have nor seek to have any influence. I feel the limits of my
powers, and keep within them, quietly and. tranquilly, because I
can add nothing to my mental stature.’

Mendelssohn was short, and much misshapen; he had a hump
upon his back, and he stammered; but his clever, intellectual
head, of which Lavater has given so lively a description, made
up for all, as is often the case with deformed persons. Physical
beauty is an excellent letter of recommendation in intercourse
with mankind, but nothing more, for the qualities that lastingly
enchain us are of another kind, as is proved by Mendelssohn’s great
popularity in the widest circles, and by the unceasing friendship
entertained for him by such a man as Lessing. He enjoyed,
however, not only the love of all who came in contact with him22

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

but was also very happily married. During a visit to Hamburg
in the year 1762 he became acquainted with Fromet, the
daughter of Abraham Gugenheim, and in the following year
married her. Berthold Auerbach, in his book 4 At a good Hour,’
thus describes the manner in which he won his wife :—

Moses Mendelssohn was at the baths of Pyrmont, when he
became acquainted with Gugenheim, a merchant of Hamburg.
4 Rabbi Moses,’ said Gugenheim one day, 4 we all admire you, but
my daughter most of all. It would be the greatest happiness to
me to have you for a son-in-law. Come and see us in Hamburg.’

Mendelssohn was very shy in consequence of his sad defor-
mity, but at last he resolved upon the journey, and on his way
visited Lessing at Brunswick.

He arrived in Hamburg and called upon Gugenheim at his
office. The latter said, 4 Go upstairs and see my daughter ; she
will be very pleased to receive you. I have told her so much
about you.’

He saw the daughter, and the next day came to see Gugen-
heim, and presently asked him what his daughter, who was a
very charming girl, had said of him.

‘ Ah, most honoured rabbi,’ said Gugenheim, 4 shall I can-
didly tell you ? ’

4 Of course.’

4 Well, as you are a philosopher, a wise and great man, you
will not be angry with the girl. She said she was frightened on
seeing you, because you---’

4 Because I have a hump ? ’

Gugenheim nodded.

41 thought so; but I will still go and take leave of your
daughter.’

He went upstairs and sat down by the young lady, who was
sewing. They conversed in the most friendly manner, but the
girl never raised her eyes from her work, and avoided looking at
him. At last, when he had cleverly turned the conversation in
that direction, she asked him:—

4 Do you believe, then, that marriages are made in heaven ? ’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said he, ‘and something especially wonderfulHIS MARRIAGE.

23

happened to me* At the birth of a child proclamation is made
in heaven, He or she shall marry such and such a one.
When I was born, my future wife was also named, but at the
same time it was said, Alas! she will have a dreadful hump-
back. 0 God, I said then, a deformed girl will become em-
bittered and unhappy, whereas she should be beautiful. Dear
Lord, give me the hump-back, and let the maiden be well made
and agreeable! ’

Scarcely had Moses Mendelssohn finished speaking when
the girl threw herself upon his neck: she afterwards became his
wife, they lived happily together, and had good and handsome
children, whose descendants are still living.

That this was a love-match is shown by a letter to Lessing,1
in which he says : ‘ The woman whom I am about to marry has
no property, is neither learned nor beautiful, yet nevertheless
I, infatuated fool, am so wrapt up in her that I believe I shall
be able to live happily with her.’ And that he did so is proved
by his words to Abbt in 1766:2 ‘I have for a long time
been suffering extreme anxiety: I have lost an aged father, a
child of a few months old, and have been in danger of losing
my wife, who is dearer to me than father or child.’

Mendelssohn’s income was very limited; many of his writings,
as for instance the translation of the Pentateuch, he published
gratuitously; private property he had none, and was therefore
obliged to be dependent upon his salary as a book-keeper.
Here the management of his wife, who arranged everything on
the most economical principles, must have been invaluable.
We are told that in the evenings, when Mendelssohn always
kept open house, Fromet would count the almonds and raisins
for dessert, so as to prevent waste in trifles lest the household
should want in more important things.

Mendelssohn had many children. Two died young, one a girl
of eleven months old, of whom he writes to Abbt: 4 Death has
knocked at my door and robbed me of a child, which has lived
but eleven innocent months; but God be praised, her short life

1 Without a date. Moses Mendelssohn’s complete writings, vol. v. p. 165.

* See Letters to Lessing, published by Kedlich, Berlin, 1879, p. 166.24

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

was happy and fall of bright promise. My friend, the dear
child did not live these eleven months in vain. Her mind
had even in that short time made quite an astonishing pro-
gress ; from a little animal that wept and slept, she grew
into the bud of a seasoning creature. As the points of the
young blades of grass press through the hard earth in spring,
one could see in her the breaking out of the first passions. She
showed pity, hatred, love, and admiration, she understood the
language of those who spoke, and endeavoured to make known
her thoughts to them. Is no trace of all this left in the whole
of nature ? You will laugh at my simplicity, and see in this
talk the weakness of a man who, seeking comfort, finds it no-
where but in his own imagination. It may be; I cannot believe
that Grod has set us on His earth like foam on the wave.’

A son of his died at the age of twelve years, and there re-
mained to him three sons and three daughters, who were brought
up in the best manner, and educated by excellent teachers, regard-
less of any expense that might insure them a place among
the most cultured. From the letter written by Mendelssohn
to Herz Homberg, who was once their tutor and afterwards
settled in Vienna, we perceive that he was a loving though by
no means blind father, that he carefully and with keen glance
followed the development of his children, rejoiced in the pro-
spect of their talents, while at the same time he clearly re-
cognised their faults.

Mendelssohn divided his time in the following manner: in
summer and winter he rose at five o’clock, and occupied himself
for several hours with study. This habit gave origin and name to
his last work, ‘ The Morning Hours.’ From nine to three he spent
in the factory. But here also there stood a little library of
scientific works, of which he made use at every leisure
moment that business permitted. Strangers wishing to see
him often sought him there, and in quick succession
workmen with samples, learned men with philosophical state-
ments, merchants with trade affairs, office business, and quiet
moments over his books came in turn. He treated everything
with uniform clearness, and such constant variety helped tc
preserve his elasticity of mind.DAILY PLEASURES.

25

After three o’clock his afternoons were free, and were devoted
partly to study, partly to recreation in the open air. At that
time Berlin was not the monster of brick and mortar, with
interminable dusty, evil-smelling streets, that it is in the pre-
sent day, but in every direction one could easily escape into
fresh air and get a peep of green fields and shady trees. But to
the Jews a walk in any public place was in many ways em-
bittered. ‘ I sometimes go out,’ wrote Mendelssohn to Winkopp,
‘ in the evening with my wife and children. “ Papa,” inquires
one of them in innocent simplicity, “ what is it those lads call
out after us ? Why do they throw stones at us ? What have
we done to them ? ” “Yes, dear papa,” says another, “ they always
run after us in the streets and shout, £ Jew-boy ! Jew-boy !’ Is
it a disgrace in the eyes of these ueople to be a Jew ? What
is that to them ? ” I cast down my eyes and sigh to myself,
Poor humanity! To what a point have things come! ’ To
avoid such annoyance he hired a garden, to which in fine
weather he could always go from his town house ; it was
in Spandau Street, and since his death has been marked by
a memorial tablet. This garden is often mentioned by him
in his letters with deep delight. It lay near to Nicolai’s, and
the friends stayed sometimes in one, sometimes in the other.
‘ Come to us,’ wrote Mendelssohn to Lessing during the Seven
Years’war; ‘in our secluded garden-house we will forget how
human passions are wasting the earth. It will be easy to
forget the unworthy strife of covetousness, if we continue the
discussion of those most important subjects which we have com-
menced in, our correspondence ! ’

As the evening approached a circle of friends and acquaint-
ances nearly every day assembled in Mendelssohn’s house.
A pleasant custom prevailed by which any person who had
been once introduced into the house came afterwards in the
evenings, uninvited, when he liked, and remained as long
as he chose. People found acquaintances, as accident brought
them together; a lively, ever-varied conversation was carried on,
the suppers were simple, as was necessary for such improvised
parties. So long as the family lived in Berlin, it was an ex-
ample of this pleasant way of hospitality. There were scarcely26

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

any remarkable men of Berlin, or distinguished strangers
visiting that city, who were not the guests of the consecutive
generations, in the house of Moses Mendelssohn, Abraham
Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Hensel, and Dirichlet.

In Moses Mendelssohn’s house at these evening meetings
the conversation generally turned upon literary and artistic
topics, seldom upon strictly scientific subjects. Moses
generally sat as umpire in his arm-chair, with downcast eyes.
But every one watched him and his movements. He often dis-
played a lively interest by some sudden outbreak or mono-
syllabic exclamation, or rewarded some speaker by smiling
acquiescence. A rapid downward glance, a denying shake of the
head, indicated his decided disapproval. If this had no effect,
if one of the combatants would not yield to sensible argument,
or when at last contradictory opinions crossed in confusion, he
would rise from his chair, step between the disputants, and
seem gently to beg a hearing. Then followed a pause, during
which he took up the thread of the argument, developed the
question at issue, placed thesis and antithesis in opposition
with a brevity and clearness peculiar to himself, and let the
arguers decide the point at issue without taking part with one
or the other. When thus the heat of the discussion had been
cooled down and a harmony of sentiment had been established,
he would say : c You see, gentlemen, it was simply a dispute of
words, as is generally the case. I thought you were really of the
same mind.’ He completely adopted the Socratic method of
argument, drawing forth what he wanted to teach out of the
mind of his scholars, instead of forcing his own opinions upon
them.

As neither Mendelssohn nor his wife were Prussians born,
conformably to the conditions then existing they could only live
in Berlin under the protection of some Jew who had been
naturalised there. The Marquis d’Argens, who had by chance
heard this, and who, coming from France, had never conceived
such a state of things, could not believe it possible that a man
like Mendelssohn should live in daily peril of being ordered out
of the city by the police. He spoke about it to Mendelssohn,
who confirmed the fact, and said : ‘ Socrates proved to his friendPETITION FOR PROTECTION.

27

Crito that a wise man is bound even to die when his death is
demanded by the laws of the state. I must therefore consider
the law of this state a mild one, since it simply banishes me,
if in default of any other Jewish protection even a pedlar Jew
should refuse to own me for his servant.’ The marquis requested
Mendelssohn to write a petition, which he himself offered to
present. With this proposal he at first would not comply. ‘ It
would be painful to me,’ said he, 4 to beg for that permission
to exist which is the natural right of every human being who
lives as a peaceful citizen. If, however, the state has weighty
reasons for tolerating such people as my nation only up to a
certain number, what privilege ought I to claim over my fellow-
countrymen that I should ask for an exception in my
favour ? ’

But the urgent entreaties of his friends succeeded at last
in inducing him to draw up a petition, which d’Argens personally
presented. Mendelssohn got no answer, and it turned out that
the petition, whether intentionally or unintentionally, was lost.
Upon a duplicate of it d’Argens wrote: 4 Un philosophe
mauvais catholique supplie un philosophe mauvais protestant
de donner le privilege a un philosophe mauvais juif. 11 y a trop
de philosophic dans tout ceci, pour que la raison ne soit pas du
cote de la demande.’ Mendelssohn received the privilege in
1763. Later he begged for an extension of the same to his pos-
terity, which Frederic the Great refused, but which was bestowed
by Frederic William II. in 1787 upon the widow and children,
as in the document is stated,4 On account of the acknowledged
merits of your husband and father.’

Mild as Mendelssohn was, he was by no means deficient in
ready wit. Teller once addressed him with the following
joking lines:—

An Gott den Yater glaubt Ihr schon,

So glaubt docb aucb an seinen Sohn.

Ihr pflegt ja sonst bei Yater’s Leben
Dem Sohne gern Credit zu geben.

(You already believe in God the Father well, then believe in His Son also,
as you so readily in commercial transactions give credit to a son in his father’s
lifetime.)28

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

Mendelssohn replied:—

Wie konnten wir Credit Ihm geben ?

Der Yater wird ja ewig leben.

(How could we give Him credit, as His Father will live everlastingly ?)

And the crushing reply is well known that he made to an
officer who impertinently asked him 4 in what commodity
he dealt.’ 4 In that,’ said he, 4 which you appear to need—good
sense.’

A young author brought him an essay on the Freedom of the
Human Will. 4 I could not read your essay,’ said Mendelssohn
to him, when after a time he was asked his opinion. The author,
somewhat piqued, apologized for having troubled him. Men-
delssohn pacified him by the assurance that he had really been
hindered from doing so. 4 How could you have concluded from
what I said before that I thought the essay bad ? ’	4 Because

I understood that you would not read it.’ 4Then, as I hear
you make a difference between can and will,’ returned Men-
delssohn, 41 need not read your essay upon Free Will; for, I
take it, we agree upon the matter.’

Mendelssohn’s health was always naturally weak, and had
been undermined in early youth by overwork and insufficient
food. But by means of an unusually regular life he kept him-
self in tolerably good condition, until the Lavater dispute brought
on the severe nervous illness already mentioned, which rendered
him for seven years incapable of study. The self-sacrificing
watchfulness of his wife and a twice-repeated visit to the baths
at Pyrmont somewhat restored him, and he enjoyed tolerably
good health until the end of the year 1785. But the death of
Lessing and the ensuing quarrel with Jacobi affected him too
deeply. On the last day of December 1785 he took the manu-
script of his last word in that dispute to Voss, his publisher.
At the end of the last sheet he had written: 41 think
that under such circumstances discussion avails little, and it is
therefore better that we paid. May he go back to the belief
of his fathers, and reduce stubborn reason to obedience
through the all-conquering might of faith, put down rising
doubts (as he does in his appendix), with authoritativeENCOUNTER WITH JAKOBY.

29

and dictatorial sayings, and “ bless and seal his obedience
with words from the pious, angel-pure mouth of Lavater.”
I, for my part, remain in my Jewish unbelief, attribute to no
mortal “ an angel-pure moutb,” would not myself depend upon
the authority even of an archangel on a question which concerns
that eternal truth upon which the salvation of man is founded,
and where I must stand or fall upon my own feet. Or
rather, since, as Jakoby says, “ we are all born in faith,” I
return to the faith of my forefathers, which, according to the
original meaning of the word, consisted not in belief in teach-
ing and opinion, but in trust and confidence in the attributes
of Grod. I place the fullest and most implicit faith in His
omnipotence, which is able to give us the power of recognising
without authority those truths upon which our happiness de-
pends, and I cherish a childlike confidence that His mercy
will grant me this strength. Fortified by this unwavering
belief, I seek instruction and conviction wherever I can find
them. And praise be to the all-goodness of the Creator, I
believe that I have found them, and that every one else may find
them who seeks with open eyes and does not voluntarily shun
the light.’

On this walk to the publisher’s he caught a cold, which
seemed at first unimportant, but became quickly worse ; and
on January 4, 1786, he died. His end, like that of nearly all
his progeny, was sudden and almost painless. His physician,
Hofrath Marcus Herz, states 1 :—

‘ On the morning of Wednesday, at seven o’clock, his son
came in great haste to me, and begged that I would immediately
visit his father, who was very restless. I hurried to him and
found him on his sofa. His appearance became more and more
alarming, and whilst I was gone into the next room, to inform
his wife and son-in-law of his state and beg them to summon
assistance for me, I heard a slight noise from the sofa, sprang
back, and found him fallen a little from his sitting position,
with his head thrown back; pulse, breath, and life were gone.
We tried various means to rouse him, but in vain. He lay

1 See his account to Engel in the preface to Engel’s pamphlet ‘An die
Freunde Lessing’s.’3°

MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

without motion, struggle, convulsion, or any warning of death,
with his usual friendly smile on his lips, as if an angel had
kissed his life away. The reason of his death was that natural
but not very ordinary one, an apoplexy, the result of weakness.
The lamp went out for lack of oil, and no one but a man of his
wisdom, power of self-control, moderation, and inward peace-
fulness could, with such a constitution as his, have kept the
flame alight for fifty-seven years.’

Universal sympathy was felt throughout Germany as the
sad news was made known.JOSEPH AND NATHAN MENDELSSOHN.

Moses Mendelssohn left three sons, Joseph, Abraham, and
Nathan, and three daughters, Dorothea, Henrietta, and Frecka,
in no very brilliant circumstances. He had been unable to save
much money, and anxiety for the wellbeing of his children
troubled the last days of his life. Some little time before his
death a friend found him sitting under the trees before his
house, and asked him, ‘ What is the matter, dear Mr. Mendels-
sohn ? You look distressed ! ’ c Yes, so I am,’ answered he; ‘ I
am thinking of what my children will do when I am gone, for
I can leave them hut very little.’ And Joseph Mendelssohn,
his eldest son, as he relates this in the short biography which
precedes the collected works of his father, adds : ‘ If as an en-
lightened spirit you look down upon us, your children upon
earth, you will be convinced that God has taken your pos-
terity under His care, that they all have sufficient, and are
leading an honourable life.’

Moses Mendelssohn followed the development of his children
with careful eyes. Thus he writes 1 to Herz Homberg of Joseph,
the eldest: ‘You want to know how my son, your pupil, is
getting on ? I- must tell you that I am contented with his
industry, he makes tolerable progress. I do not exactly know
how much he has learnt out of this or that book ; it is enough
that he thinks, and thinks deeply and justly. His taste, too, is
beginning to form itself. What I most regret is that stub-
bornness and want of gentleness in his character which, if
not absolutely bad, is yet unpleasing, and may have at least an
unfavourable influence upon his future fortunes. You know
how he was always of that temper which would ten times

1 M. Mendelssohn's collected works, vol. v. p. 670.32

JOSEPH AND NATHAN MENDELSSOHN.

rather break than bend; so he is still. All my efforts have
been so far unavailing. He is even Sophist enough to
justify his weakness to his friends, who, much against my
will, sometimes ridicule him. I almost give up the hope of
seeing him improved in this respect, unless the love of some
woman may induce him to control himself.’ And in another
place:1 £ Joseph has as good as given up his Hebrew studies.
Unluckily, after you left he fell into the hands of a scholastic
man, master of the vain art of dispute. But, however much
Joseph is devoted to subtlety and argument, he has no mind
for mere hair-splitting.2 A taste for this intellectual exercise is
engendered by a particular species of instruction, and though
we have both enjoyed that style of teaching, we agree in wish-
ing that Joseph should rather remain somewhat blunter in wit
than exercise his mind in such an unfruitful manner. The
distaste for his master’s teaching has given him a disgust for
the whole subject. In solid knowledge he makes good progress,
inquires deeply, looking round with firm and searching glance,
but never makes those great leaps which might be expected of
a young and fiery reasoner. We have as yet no determined
plans with regard to his future life. I still feel undecided what
to advise him. His talent and love for exact science induces
us to expect something good of him in that department. But
as a Jew he can only practise medicine, for which he has neither
genius nor inclination. It is, I think, too early to devote him
to trade. He might scramble through life as his father has
done, half-merchant, half-scholar, even if he run the same
danger of being neither one nor the other thoroughly.

‘ Willingly and justly as he thinks, he is yet slow and loth to
write; though all that he does is good and sound. He seldom
takes up the pen, only when he hears or himself thinks of
something that seems to him important. He succeeds in
familiar letters, but will write them only when he has ideas
which he thinks worth communicating. The exercise of writ-
ing down one’s thoughts is too much neglected even in our best

•

1 See vol. v. p. 673, and elsewhere.

‘ This expresses the word used in the original Hebrew.THE CHILDREN.

33

methods of education. To myself it is still always a task
to put my thoughts into writing.

4 The rest of the children go on as we expected, and mostly
as we have wished, 44 not short, not tall, not wise, and not
foolish,”1 down to the youngest, Nathan, who calls himself the
wise, and whose wisdom at present consists in looking to Swa
for sweetmeats, to R. Samuel for gingerbread, and to Hanna
the cook for all other needs.’

The result has taught us that Moses Mendelssohn was
right in thinking a learned education would not spoil his son
for a merchant’s position. But he did not prophesy so correctly
with regard to the 4 scrambling through ’ and wavering between
scholar and merchant, for Joseph entered into the latter posi-
tion thoroughly. From small beginnings he laid the founda-
tion of the banking-house still bearing his name, and at his
death left it on the certain road to the importance it has since
acquired.

Of the outward circumstances of the family immediately
after Moses’s death we do not know much. For the first few
years the widow continued to live in Berlin, and there up to
the end of the year 1804 Joseph had a small banking business,
in which only two clerks were employed. Next, the family
moved to Hamburg, where Joseph took part in a business with
his younger brother Abraham, the bank in Berlin being still
carried on.

Abraham’s wife Leah describes the last years of her mother-
in-law—who died in 1812, at a very happy green old age—and
of her brother-in-law Joseph she speaks soon after her arrival.in
Hamburg, as follows: 41 can answer your inquiries after my new
friends very satisfactorily. Up to the present I certainly like
Joseph best. You know how clever and pleasant he is in con-
versation ; I assure you, in these few days of unbroken inter-
course with him, he quite won my heart, he seems to me
so happy and kind, so good, warm, and lively in disposition.
To see him with his beautiful children is a real pleasure to
me, and he is so cordial and ready, much more so than people
give him credit for; he is much respected as an active, clever
1 A Jewish proverb.	2 Alexander and Benny Mendelssohn

VOL. I.	D34

JOSEPH AND NATHAN MENDELSSOHN.

business man, whilst at the same time he takes an eager
interest in literature and science. He seems to me too of a
very happy temper, which in my eyes is one of the highest
qualities, if I may say so. I mean, he has the kind of inward
happiness which arises out of full enjoyment of life and activity
of the mental powers, not out of narrowness and want of
thought.’

During the occupation of Hamburg by the French the Men-
delssohns, falling under their displeasure, were obliged to flee the
town, and in mist and darkness they escaped one night in dis-
guise, turning their steps towards Berlin. There they enlarged
the banking business, from which Abraham afterwards separated,
and it remained thenceforth the dwelling-place of the family.
Joseph spent his leisure hours, up to the very last, in scholastic
pursuits, and even as a grey-headed man took up many hitherto
unknown branches of human knowledge, never resting until he
had made them his own. The universal genius of Alexander von
Humboldt, with whom until his death he maintained the
closest friendship, must have had great influence upon him.
One day Humboldt came in great vexation to tell him that his
landlord had given him notice, and that he must move, which was
a great annoyance to him on account of the trouble and
damage involved in the packing and unpacking of his natural
history collection. Joseph listened quietly and said nothing;
but in the afternoon Humboldt received a letter from him saying
that 1 he might stay undisturbed in the house as long as he
liked, for that Joseph was now his landlord, as he had bought
the house.’ Many instances of such liberality could be quoted
from the history of his life.

Joseph had, like his father, the good fortune to die a quiet
and painless death. His niece Bebecca, Abraham’s daughter,
wrote to the family on November 26,1848 : 4 Joseph Mendelssohn
died early yesterday morning. His end was of unexampled
happiness, like his whole life. He was ill only a few days,
never confined to his bed; only the day before he had busied
himself with algebra, read, and slept well through the night.
The cough from which he had suffered for several days gave
way, and he let himself be dressed, then walked alone to hisDEATH OF JOSEPH. NATHAN.

35

arm-chair, in which after a few minutes he fell asleep. It was a
long-anticipated loss, but none the less irreparable. A man of
such remarkable powers is not often to be met with, and so
richly favoured and varied a career contributed essentially to
mental development. You know that I have seen him but
very seldom, yet it grieves me much that he is no longer
amongst us. We all feel ourselves the poorer for the loss of
this quiet man, who after living for his family alone has closed
his active, untiring life.’

These extracts from Leah’s correspondence and that of her
daughter—which is equally appreciative, though written at
widely separated intervals of time—give us a picture of a long,
useful, and complete life.

The youngest son of Moses, Nathan, lived partly in Silesia
and partly in Berlin, where he had afterwards a small govern-
ment appointment. He outlived all his brothers and sisters,
and in the year 1852 died a sudden and painless death. Of his
children many were very musical, an inheritance which was
and is still granted to many of Moses’s descendants.THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

Dorothea, the eldest daughter of Moses, was born in Berlin in
1765, and is well known through her marriage with Frederick
Schlegel.

Aided by her friendships with Henrietta Herz and Kahel,
and the stimulating influence of the parental house, the active
mind of Dorothea was developed to a higher degree than
usually falls to the lot of her sex. It was a dangerous gift,
especially as Moses Mendelssohn, however far he had advanced
beyond his times and the standpoint of Judaism, seems still to
have held by one hardly recommendable custom. In Jewish
marriages at that time the destined bridegroom was seldom con-
sulted, the bride never ; the parents decided the fate of their
children with unlimited authority. For ordinary Jewish mar-
riages this probably did very well, the mental development of
the men being very considerable and that of the women absol-
utely nil. But now the highly educated daughters of Men-
delssohn, who had learnt to form great expectations of mental
and moral worth, were to be ‘ bestowed ’ upon men in the same
manner as the daughters of the lowest Jewish tradesman.
There exists a very .remarkable letter of Moses Mendelssohn
which throws a clear light upon his manner of thinking on this
point. Herz Homberg, who had been tutor in Mendelssohn’s
house, went to Vienna, there became engaged to a lady,
announced the fact to Mendelssohn, and at the same time pro-
posed a union between a relative of his betrothed and one of
Mendelssohn’s daughters. In his answer to the letter Moses
says : ‘ Certainly my daughter and I and (if you will forgive
my self-love) perhaps also you and E. would like this very well.
One consideration only, one difficulty, lies in the way—oneDOROTHEA MENDELSSOHN.

37

which is not so easily removable. A marriage which does
not arise from motives of self-interest must depend upon incli-
nation. So far as I am personally acquainted with the excellent
E., and through you have come to know him, I think him noble
enough to rise above all considerations of interest, and to choose
from inclination. But the inclination must be there before it
can act, must be felt if it is to produce a result. It must not,
however, be taken for granted, must not arise from hearsay, have
nothing to do with tradition or mere belief, and must take
cognisance only of the evidence of the senses, and of no other
assurance, even though confirmed by signs and wonders. Like a
teazing, capricious maiden, the inclination is to be found Just
where it is least expected, and disappoints you where you had
anticipated to meet it. Its origin may now and then appear
strange, but it has rarely adapted itself to a father’s philosophy.
As this theory of inclination is founded upon experience as
well as upon principle, I would not willingly get an idea into
my head which may make me dizzy. Indeed such a son-in-
law as E. would be no small food for pride! Enough of this
for the present.’

Upon what grounds, then, did he refuse the offer ? They
woidd be excellent ones, if the inclination of the lady were
taken into account; but her father speaks only of the inclina-
tion of the man. Not one thought does he give to his daughter.
The possibility that she also might possess any individual
inclination does not occur to him; if only the man will like
her, her consent is taken as understood, and 4 she would be well
off.’

This oriental view of woman as merely a chattel revenged
itself on all the daughters of Mendelssohn. Dorothea, like her
friend Henrietta Herz, was first married, in this manner, to a
man for whom she had no affection, a Jewish merchant, Veit.
He was a thoroughly good man, but he could not offer her the
treasures of a deep and learned intellect, which Marcus Herz
could give his wife, and which through the social circle of her
father’s house had become for Dorothea a real necessity. Their
married life, though blessed by the birth of two sons, remained a
thoroughly inharmonious one, and Dorothea sought nourishment38 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

for her versatile mind in books and in the society of friends
outside her own home.

In July 1797, in the Herz circle, she encountered Frederick
Schlegel, a man who in spite of his youth (he was only
five-and-twenty) already possessed literary fame, and whose
diversified education, brilliant wit, and fine exterior must have
lent him a great charm in her eyes. On the other hand, he also
felt drawn towards her, although she was seven years older than
he, and possessed no beauty.

The more these two true children of the romantic time grew
attractive to one another, the looser became the bonds which
united Dorothea to Simon Veit, and in the latter part of the
year 1798 a separation was brought about, through the media-
tion of their friends Henrietta Herz and Schleiermacher. No
special difference took place between them ; after the separation
Veit proved himself a constant and noble friend to her, whilst
she remained a true self-sacrificing mother to their two sons,
who remained with her. The youngest of these sons, who
died full of years in 1877, was the celebrated painter, Philipp
Veit.

For the present no marriage was concluded with Frederick
Schlegel. After the separation from Veit he wrote in exulting
terms to his sister-in-law Caroline (letter 120): ‘ Rejoice now
that my life has found ground to stand upon, a centre and a
definite form; wonderful things may come to pass.’ The won-
derful things consisted in the bringing forth of the well-known
novel defended by Schleiermacher. In this the writer portrays
himself in Julius, and the object of his affection in Lucinde,
the heroine.

In October 1799 Schlegel took Dorothea to his brother
William and his wife Caroline in Jena, where she was hospitably
received. Here Augustus William Schlegel, who incited every-
body to authorship, especially his unproductive brother Fre-
derick, awoke in Dorothea also a desire to write. R. Haym, the
excellent historian of the Romantic School, describes her literary
activity in the following words 1:—

‘ Poor Dorothea, she who with such inconsiderate resolution
1 R. Haym, Die rbmantische Schule, Berlin 1870, p. 663 ff.DOROTHEA AND F. SCHLEGEL.

35

bad bound her destiny to that of her friend, became indeed a
poetess, she knew not why. There lay in her temperament
much that, if united with creative power, heightens the worth
of poetic art. She was capable of the most self-effacing resig-
nation, the most self-sacrificing constancy, and showed both
under the hardest trials in her relation to Frederick, a selfish,
assuming, far from good-natured man. A strong spirit dwelt in
this weak body, especially strong in self-control, patience, and
self-denial. It is touching to see how she, with her whole
heart, shared not only the intellectual interests but, harder
still, the cares of her friend, and put up with his caprices.
It was her pride to live for him alone, to excuse him, and to put
the best face on everything. She stood between Frederick and
Schleiermacher as “ interpreter and supplementer,” and always
made it her duty to allay symptoms of bad feeling or misunder-
standing. This role of patient endurance was made easier by
her genuine modesty and unceasing cheeriness. There was
no trace of weak sentimentality. Her letters, the earlier ones
especially, reveal not only the true feelings of a woman, but a
fine vein of bright, irrepressible humour, to which she gave
vent in droll sallies, innocent badinages, and mischievous in-
nuendoes. The occasion must have been a serious one (as in-
deed many were in her subsequent life) that could provoke her
to bitterness and passion. On such occasions one can almost
see how she turns up her nose and pouts her lips; it does
not become her, but the ugly expression quickly disappears.
Her rule is, in her own words, “ never to restrain a laugh in
the midst of her tears, wherever there is anything to laugh
at.” She certainly once does herself injustice when she blames
herself for Frederick’s want of success, and speaks of the dis-
cord bom with her, and never to be got rid of. There was
no want of harmony in her, except that which may well some-
times disturb a woman who finds her feeling itself controlled
by a clear masculine understanding. She was a true daughter
of Moses Mendelssohn. It was her openness, and truth, her
sound judgment, practical sense, and many other excellent
qualities which made her of such value to men like Fichte
and Schleiermacher. It is remarkable how thoroughly her40 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

aspiring mind entered into the world of thought and imagina-
tion of the Eomantic School, and yet through it all preserved
unimpaired a sense for the unromantic reality, even in matters
of household management. Now and then the suspicion comes
across her that all matters of literary or aesthetic moment,
which in her reverence for Frederick she also must regard as
important, are in reality nullities. She wished very much to
see Frederick an artist, but would have preferred even more
to see him shine as the able citizen of a well-ordered state.
The whole character and aims of her revolutionary friends
seemed to her as much adapted to literature, criticism, and
“ such like stuff,” as a giant is to a cradle, and, according to
her views, they ought to have acted like Gfotz of Berlichingen,
who took pen in hand as a recreation from the hardships of
war. She said this to her friend Schleiermacher quite frankly
and openly, and in reading other passages from her letter
one realises the hearty laugh with which she would interrupt
Schleiermacher’s wire-drawn reflections, or make short work of
Frederick’s transcendental ironies, and how undoubtedly she
had in both cases the advantage over both these odd men.’

Authorship was indispensable in the Schlegel circle, and so
Dorothea wrote amongst other things a novel, entitled ‘ Floren-
tine Haym says of it: ‘ Do not suppose for a moment that
she intended to produce a pendant to “ Lucinde.” The slightest
thought of placing herself on a level with the “divine Frederick ”
she would have regarded as an act of high treason. In her
eyes the author of “Lucinde” was an artist; it was enough
for her to assist in procuring him repose, and, as a humble
worker, earn bread for him, until he could do it for himself. It
was a childish triumph for her to have been the first to please
the master William with some verses which she had put into
the mouth of Florentin. With a beating heart and blushing
face she sent the proof sheets of her novel to Schleiermacher.
When at last, in the autumn of 1800, the first volume was ready,
and her modest opinion remained unaltered by all her friends’
praise, she began to be really ashamed of her blue-stockings,
and to smile over the many red marks that her manuscript
exhibited, because “the devil too often governed where theTHE SCHLEGELS IN PARIS.

4i

dative or accusative should have done.” The best and most
delightful things in the whole book were the name of Frederick,
which stood upon the title-page as editor, and his two sonnets
dedicated to her. She might have been a little more vain
about her humorous bantling, for, comparing novel with novel,
the “ Florentin ” in its modest want of self-dependence is a
hundred times better than the “ Lucinde ” with its conceited
originality.’

Whilst Dorothea thus found tolerable contentment in

I

literary work, a very unequal proportion of disagreeables fell to
her share in domestic life, through Frederick Schlegel’s capri-
cious temper, and her ever-increasing disagreement with
William’s wife, Caroline. Upon this lady the lion’s share of
the blame must fall. Her evil influence was, however, soon
removed by her separation from her husband, in order to
marry the philosopher Schelling, who had previously chosen
the daughter of her first marriage, Augusta Bohmer, but on the
death of the latter returned to the mother, and (another - sign
of the time) was in no way divided from his friend William
Schlegel on that account, but unhindered carried his wife
home.

Frederick Schlegel, whose work in Jena was less fortunate
than that of Dorothea, in the year 1808 finally broke loose
from the restrictive social circle in that town, and travelled
with Dorothea and her son Philipp Veit to Paris, where Dorothea
went over to the Christian faith, and the lovers bound them-
selves in the bonds of marriage. Here Frederick devoted him-
self to his Indian studies with good results. In 1803 he
published a journal, Europa, gave lectures, and assembled
a circle around him, of which there is an account in ‘Schmidt’s
Necrologues’: ‘Frederick Schlegel invited his German friends
and acquaintances on Sunday evenings to tea; he would then
read aloud from Shakespeare or Tieck, or in “ Zerbino ” and
other pieces. He read unusually well, but declined all praise,
asserting that Tieck alone could read really well, especially
Shakespeare. This is true ; but if one is to judge between them,
one must confess that Tieck is first in art of recitation, Schlegel
in natural manner. All went very pleasantly in this set.42 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

Dorothea’s careful loving sense enabled her to shed a cheer-
ful influence upon their tranquil, well-ordered life. All was
homely, comfortable, harmonious, and pleasing around her.
Ever active and exemplary, she practised all womanly in-
dustry. It is incomprehensible how she still found time to
write. She it was who, whilst her quick, clever hand made
and mended clothes, knitted stockings, and busied itself on the
domestic hearth, was the copyist of all her husband’s writings,
herself all the while bringing forth much that was beautiful
and excellent. During this time she worked at the second
part of “ Florentin,” which was never published, wrote excellent
essays for the Europa (signed with aD.), translated and com-
pressed “ Merlin ” into an exquisite epitome, carried on a toler-
ably extensive correspondence, found time to see the most
remarkable objects of art, read all new books, occasionally
attended concerts and the theatres, and enlivened the evenings by
the charm of her social gifts or her beautiful reading aloud.
To hear her read was a ravishing enjoyment, which however
she granted only to her most intimate friends, and when
Frederick was at work in his own room. To very few did she
ever acknowledge herself as the authoress of the “ Florentin,” her
poems, and other writings. She was proud that her products
should appear under Schlegel’s name, and always asserted that
fame was a disadvantage to women, who must expect and ac-
cept every happiness and splendour from love alone. She was
at once the heart, hand, and head of her husband, and to be this
she was above everything herself. Indeed she stood'singly on
her height of loving self-sacrifice and activity, strong, cheerful,
self-controlled, and sufficient for all the claims of others. Her
sister Henrietta, whom Rahel speaks of as “ the richest,
most refined nature she had known,” had a quieter charm, a
more reserved gravity, was less expansive, and more observant
of outward things, whilst perhaps inwardly nothing could be
more passionate, sympathetic, and tender than she.’

The time in Paris was the most brilliant period in Dorothea’s
life, of the remaining portion of which we only record that
on their return from Paris she, together with her husband
and son Philipp, went over to the Roman Catholic religion atRECHA AND HENRIETTA.

43

Cologne. Later on (1818-19) she lived with her sons, who
devoted themselves to painting, in Rome, and there spent much
of her time in the Humboldt circle. The remainder of her
varied life was spent in Frankfort-on-the-Main, where Frederick
held the post of Austrian 4 Legationsrath ’ in the 4 Bundestags-
gesandschaft,’ and remained until his death in 1829. She died
in the year 1839.

Moses Mendelssohn’s second daughter, Recha, was married
to the Mecklenburg 4 Hof-Agent ’ Meyer. This union also
proved unhappy, and after a time was dissolved. Recha
established a boarding-school for young girls in Altona, and
subsequently lived in Berlin, in close friendship with her
brother Abraham. She was an intellectual, clever, but unfor-
tunately very sickly woman.

The third daughter, Henrietta, remained unmarried, in the
early years of this century lived in Vienna, then, apparently
at the instance of her brother Abraham, went to Paris, where
she too conducted a school, in the large garden of the Foulds’
house.

Varnhagen von Ense describes her life there in the year
1810 in the following manner: 4 After the varied distractions
of the day, when neither Frascati nor one of the theatres was
to be visited, indeed many times in the early afternoon, the
garden in the Rue Richer afforded me a very sweet and com-
fortable resting-place. There, in the garden-house, lived
Henrietta Mendelssohn, the thoughtful, highly cultured sister
of Frau von Schlegel. She carried on a boarding-school for
little girls. Although plain and slightly deformed, she was
nevertheless attractive in appearance,. at once gentle, firm,
modest, and confident in her whole nature. She had a quick
intelligence, wide knowledge, clear judgment, the most re-
fined courtesy, and the choicest tact.

4 She was well acquainted with the literature of Germany,
France, and England, also to some extent of Italy, and spoke
French and English like a native. Such qualities could not lack
a noble circle of acquaintance, which, however, she sought to
limit as much as possible, on account of the duties of her school.
As long as Madame de Stael dared to remain in Paris, she44 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

came very often to Fraulein Mendelssohn’s ; so did Benjamin
Constant. I first saw Madame de Constant at her house.
Madame Fould, who occupied the house in front of the garden,
sometimes took her guest to visit her pleasant neighbours.
Spontini sat there with us for whole evenings in the moon-
light meditating on new laurels to be added to those
just won by his “Vestale”—at least he seemed always very
absent, and took little part in the conversation. Frau von
Pobeheim brought with her the Dane Heiberg, who through
Talleyrand had got a place in the foreign office, but seemed to
have enough leisure to devote himself principally to literature.
I also saw there for the first time Frau von Chezy and Frau
von Quandt, both from Berlin. Humboldt, although then away,
was well remembered. Korefif and Baron Driiberg appeared
less frequently, but all the oftener came the ltitter von
Eskeles, who had formerly, in Vienna, sued for the hand of the
amiable gouvernante, and still held her in great affection.

‘ In this garden remarkable conversations often took place ;
the German and French views, though often seeming to admit
of no possible accommodation, were reconciled through the happy
translation which Fraulein Mendelssohn knew how to give to
them, in which it was the words that were least of all translated.
Here the contents of Madame de Stael’s book upon Germany,
whilst still in the press, were talked over, and in strict confid-
ence I received the proofs, which I read with interest, not un-
mixed with displeasure and sometimes even anger, being
one-sided and unjust enough to consider, not how the book
would affect France, but how far it represented Germany in
our own eyes. Now and then, when the ground was safe,
political opinions were uttered without reserve ; then it was
remarkable how much surprising knowledge of the most
secret facts and relations came from the quietest private persons
—a knowledge to obtain which I have even seen diplomatists
use their utmost endeavours to no purpose. The real causes of
Fouche’s discharge, the intrigues of that ill-famed Ouvrard, and
other matters connected with them were there detailed.

c In spite of the keen interest of such society, I found a
greater charm in quiet domestic evenings with Fraulein Mendels-HENRIETTA AND THE SEBAST1ANIS.

45

sohn alone, when German subjects were discussed in the German
language. Her drawing-room windows were thickly covered
with a vine, which at once subdued the glare of the sun and
sheltered from the cool of the evening. In that green shade
we used to sit for hoars on the low window-seat, calling up the
beloved images of our native country, our mutual friends and
acquaintances, more of whom we constantly discovered to
share our predilections in art and poetry; sometimes we dis-
cussed the highest and most sacred human interests.

‘ ^raulein Mendelssohn followed the impulse of reason above
all things, rejecting all other sources of knowledge. Her love
for Frau von Schlegel had received a blow from her turn-
ing Roman Catholic with her husband; she had called her
sister to account for so inconceivable a step, and Frau
von Schlegel in answer had earnestly begged her also to
embrace the Roman Catholic faith, which demand met only
with indignation and remained a forbidden subject. I had to
tell her minutely what I knew of the converted couple, how I
thought the affair had come to pass, and what explanation might
be admitted; for it seemed as impossible to imagine Frederick
Schlegel blindlj accepting the Roman Catholic belief as to
attribute his conversion to any worldly motive.’

In this charming home General Sebastiani became ac-
quainted with Fraulein Mendelssohn, and confided to her the
education of his daughter Fanny. Varnhagen met her again in
1814, and writes as follows :—

‘ I supposed that Henrietta Mendelssohn would be with her
pupil, General Sebastiani’s daughter, in Normandy, but unex-
pectedly found her here, when I was going to call upon Prince
Metternich, who lived in the Hotel Sebastiani. A great change
had come over her since she entered the Sebastiani family :
she had become Roman Catholic, not yet in possession of a
firm belief, but full of hope to acquire it; and thus outward
events, however great, were to her of secondary importance,
compared to her daily inward struggles. I could not afford her
any comfort; on the contrary, I only increased her restlessness ;
for she saw me as rich as she had now become, but without
sharing her desire of becoming still richer in this direction. If46 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

she succeeded, she foresaw that she must disavow me; at present
she dared not do so, because she herself was only toiling for
what I did not possess. A strange case of confusion, and rather
painful, so that our intercourse could not fail to suffer from
it.’

We will not decide whether or not this description of Hen-
rietta’s state of mind was accurate ; one thing is sure, that she
found the peace of which she was in want in her new faith, and
that she lived and died a truly believing Roman Catholic,
without having adopted any of the disagreeable qualities often
seen in converts. Her many letters to the Mendelssohn family
give ample information of her life in the Sebastiani family, where
she remained till Fanny’s marriage in 1824.

The life she led there may be called a ‘ brilliant misery.’
Fanny Sebastiani was a rich heiress, and appears to have been
a good-natured child, though of small ability. What self-sacrifice
did Henrietta devote to the ungrateful task of making this
meagre French soil fruitful by German diligence! The begin-
ning indeed appears promising enough in a letter to her sister-
in-law, Leah: ‘ R. will have told you that he called upon me
in one of the most magnificent hotels of Paris, and saw me get
out of a most beautiful carriage. All‘this and a great deal
more is perfectly true; and I assure you, dear sisters, it is not at
all a bad thing to play the fine lady. But a favourite ditty of
my grandmother’s will ever and again obtrude itself to me, “ If
it were always so!” Meanwhile I will gratefully enjoy the
present time. The best of my possessions, the truly fascinating,
lovely child, and her father’s unbounded confidence, of which
even in his letters he constantly assures me, can be taken from
me by death alone.

‘ Do you remember the Champs Elysees and the beautiful
hotels in the Faubourg St. Honore, the gardens of which
open into them? Well, I live in one of them, next door
to the Emperor, who occupies the Elvsee. You, dear
Abraham, will remember the very house, in former times in-
habited by the Marquis de Gallo. It has, however, been revu
et corrige ; the General has had it furnished in the most magni-
ficent and tasteful style, and added a beautiful picture gallery.FANNY SEBASTIANI.

47

In the second story of this hotel I occupy a suite of four
rooms, •with a view of the Champs Elysees, and the endless
gardens adjoining. All the rooms have open fires, constantly
kept up, carpets, and every luxury and comfort. The ser-
vants for myself and the child are a cook, whom I brought
from my house, two lady’s-maids, and a man-servant; carriage
and horses, by the General’s express command, at my entire
disposal. I have my own household, and the steward pays for
the expense. The behaviour of this steward alone is an illus-
tration of the way the General wishes his servants to treat me.
Whatever I desire or think necessary is done as if by en-
chantment. In short, it is impossible to find a more honourable
and flattering position than mine is. And I quite agree with
you, dear Joseph, that this treatment and the father’s good
opinion is the best thing of all that has come to my share.
The mother likewise overwhelms me with kind demonstrations;
indeed, I fare perfectly well, and if the Almighty spare the
child, and grant me, in spite of all her worldly minded surround-
ings, to bring her up in pious simplicity, I may truly bless my
lot. It is a good thing that from early childhood I have accus-
tomed myself to solitude, for I spend my evenings quite by
myself, and what is generally called pleasure must be out of
the question, as I never leave the child and will not let her
get into irregular habits. This retirement, however, appears
gloomy only to others, and does not frighten me; I know
nothing I would not do for this child, so inexpressibly lovely
is she. Your portrait, dear Abraham, hangs over my bed, and
one morning I told her that you too have a little Fanny. Since
then she inquires every morning after your Fanny, and says
good-morning to your picture. I have never seen a child more
beautiful and with more promising gifts of mind and heart. At
the same time I must say that few people really enter into her
as I do, although she is petted by everybody. In the few
days that I have had the care of her, she has, as it were, begun
to bloom. God spare her to me ! ’

A few years later, however, she writes to her sister-in-law:
‘ Fa ny is truly fond of you and yours, and thinks lovingly of
the children. Day by day she gets more and more beautiful and48 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

more good and developed, although not keeping pace as regards
information. How can I help that ? The so-called “ world ”
is drawing nearer and nearer with all its claims and promises,
and I see it coming on like a mighty avalanche, which must
destroy in one moment what I had planted and tended with
such care.’

Henrietta’s life went on in the vain struggle with all possible
influences of that kind. In the end her prophetic words
proved but too true, terribly true !

In another letter she says : ‘ Fanny has written in her own
way to Fanny Mendelssohn; there is not much in her letter.
Altogether, the only excellence of the girl is in her beauty and
amiability of mind and manner, but she is entirely without talent
and inclination for learning. I wish she could have your instruc-
tion, dear Leah; I am too impatient, and not systematic enough.’

Of the quiet life of Henrietta and her pupil we read : ‘ I
know not what account to give that might interest you. This
winter I have led a more secluded life than ever, not twice in
company, not once in the theatre, and now I am here (in
Viry, a small village near Paris), with Fanny, among flowers,
blossoms, trees, and waterfalls, spending very solitary yet enjoy-
able days, of which, however, little may be said; for it is and
will be ever true, that man alone is important to man, and that
all the rest of the external world is merely a supplement.’

This monotonous life and the almost exclusive companion-
ship of an undeveloped, indolent child—for she was that, by this
time, even in the loving eyes of her governess—was agreeably
interrupted in 1819, by the visit to Paris of Henrietta’s
favourite brother, Abraham. His society was most welcome,
and she especially enjoyed a journey to Havre which he made
with her while Fanny Sebastiani had gone with her father on a
visit to some friends.

£ I could not resist my own wishes and your husband’s won-
derful travelling talents, and thus an excursion of four hours,
which I proposed to him, has been transformed into a journey
of eight or ten days. To me, who for years and years never
stirred beyond four leagues from Paris, this appears the greatest
undertaking since the days of Columbus. We are actuallyHENRIETTA'S LETTERS.

49

at Havre, have seen and admired the sea and the tide, the ships
big and little, within and without, and anything else that pleased
or surprised us. I am sure that Abraham wished to be able to
show it to you and the children as much as I did. But never,
dearest Leah, has this wish passed my lips, although so often
in my thoughts. I fully understand your love for undis-
turbed quiet, and only regret that for the sake of it you lose
so many enjoyments; most of all that you cannot profit of
Abraham’s travelling endowments : it is impossible to be more
amiable, kind, polite, and even-tempered than my companion.
I suppose that he receives your letters regularly, for away
from you they appear a vital condition to him. Yesterday,
on our arrival here, he found one, and he only stays till to-
morrow to be quite safe of not missing your next. The day
after to-morrow we return to Paris, and the memory of what I
have seen will lastingly cheer me in Viry. Have you ever seen
a large ship ? Oh yes, I remember you were at Hamburg. So
you can understand me, even if not sharing my opinion, that
with all the admiration due to the human mind for beguiling,
subduing, and governing the awful element, the sight of it does
not really move my feeling. The smallest poem by Groethe
touches me more, and makes me more proud of humanity. The
sea and its waves are truly sublime, the power and awful sound
of the waves when they break against the bank rouse one’s
innermost soul, and have more attraction to me than the
squalid, restless throng and bustle on the ships. More and
more my mind longs for rest—for it is toward evening.’

From 1822 Henrietta’s home with the Sebastianis became
less secluded, but the change proved not for the better.
‘ Here I sit, with the dullest, stupidest person that ever dragged
through life, for a long winter-evening’s tete-a-tete, not even
Fanny at home. I do not know where to find the spirit for a
letter to you, dearest Leah, and must not think of the tant pis
pour vous. You can at least easily get rid of me—it is only a
letter, you may push it aside; it does not pace up and down the
room the whole evening, nor spit nor snarl at every breath, like
my partner, my daily companion these two months past, and
perhaps for five years to come—for he is a deputy! You see
VOL. i.	E50 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

that I suffer for the public good! But if the three constituted
powers that compose representative monarchy boast of many
such individuals, it becomes really serious, and I for my part
should prefer Turkey or any other despotism.’ And in another
letter she says: ‘ You in your happy artistic world lead such a
charming life, whilst here the inward and outward political in-
terests form the only important ones, and are discussed with the
well-known French vivacity and the greatest noise. When I
say “ here,” I mean the circle, or indeed the house, the room, in
which I live. We hear of nothing else than so-called politics,
and see only a certain number of deputies, downright incar-
nations of tedium. There is much talking hither and thither,
and I cannot help pitying Fanny, whose lovely spring days
pass under such conversation. As regards myself, I shrug
my shoulders as I perceive that after all these gentlemen
do but gaze at their own image in the mirror of time. And
these are the superior ones, for egotism is still a worse motive
than vanity.’ A charming feminine passage follows: 11 see
from your grave exhortations and explanations that you have
entirely misunderstood my banter, which properly speaking
was meant for Mendelssohn alone, and, taking me for a Jacobin,
ready to ring every prince’s and count’s neck off, defend your-
self by the best reasons against my liberal views. How sorry
I am not to be able to make your letter intelligible to all those
around me, who blame my pretended partiality for the Ultras.
To say the truth, both accusations have some foundation, for I
manage as Praxiteles did with his Venus : I take what pleases
me from every party, and shape out of it a sort of home policy
for private use, of which policy the denial of personal merit
in the higher classes certainly forms no part. Good, cultivated,
intellectual people are rare, but surely up to the present time
the higher classes, merely through their position in life, are a
step in advance, though indeed it will sometimes happen that
they do not stir from that safe point, or even watch to see
who runs past them, but continue to think themselves the
first.’

After such dull winters it was a real recreation to spend
the summer-time in seclusion in the country. HenriettaHENRIETTA'S LETTERS.

Si

enjoys it with true German feeling. In 1821 she writes:
4 For three weeks Fanny and I have been in the country, in
the most absolute solitude, but also in absolutely undisturbed
enjoyment of the most poetical spring I remember. Whatever
one reads in Spanish romances of flowers, birds singing,
radiant dew, and twinkling stars, we have and enjoy in all its
fulness! We live in a small cheerful country-house, surrounded
by fragrant plants and shady trees, not far from the Seine, on
the lovely banks of which we take our walks, sometimes watch-
ing the sunset on the river itself. If, moieover, you take
into account that all this while I escape many disagreeable
family scenes at Paris, and that Fanny does not dislike our soli-
tude, you will readily believe that I have hardly another wish
left but to be able to share my pleasure with all of you whom I
love. Not a flower do I gather without thinking of my little
Rebecca ;1 the piano reminds me of the delightful treat I
might have from the children; and the want of sensible intel-
lectual conversation makes me long doubly for the parents.
Fanny has a good voice; but God knows she sings by the sweat
of my brow, for she is fundamentally unmusical, and at the
same time so indolent and impatient that an excellent Italian
singing-master whom I gave her would not be able to make
anything of her if I were not constantly endeavouring to lend
a helping hand.’

If the above-mentioned journey to Havre with her brother
afforded Henrietta real recreation, the reverse may be said of
a journey to Provence in 1823 with General Sebastiani and
Fanny.

4 Friends and bathers pitied us for undertaking a journey
to the burning south at the very hottest time of year, and those
who knew that country, and also my love for shady walks, quiet
seats, and pure mild air, quite frightened me by their descrip-
tions, so very unlike those of Thiimmel, but like enough to
Provence, which I have now become acquainted with, at the
most unfavourable time. Of all the countries I know, not one
has displeased me so much as Provence, with its dreamy olive-
woods and leafless mulberry-trees, that stretch out their naked
1 Abraham Mendelssohn’s second daughter.52 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

branches towards you, its bare rocks and dried-up soil, on which
the pomegranate hedges seem fixed by some evil enchantment.
Whilst your carriage rolls along on the dusty road and
you close your jaded eyes against the glaring sun, your ears
are incessantly offended by the deafening din of gigantic locusts,
which swarm on both sides of the way, and actually drove
me to despair, as if they were a new and augmented edition of
the Pharaonic plague. Such it continued until we arrived on
the Pont du Gard at Nimes. Here I must parody St. Preux
and his invocation ; “ J’avais une ame pour la douleur; donnez
m’en une pour la felicite.” I have contrived to find expres-
sions for describing to you my dislike of the French Africa.
But of the monument which has withstood so many centuries,
and of the lovely wilderness where with magic art the Romans
placed it, I find it impossible to say more than that words
cannot describe it, and that it leaves an impression beyond
all comparison. This monument alone is worth the journey.
Then the amphitheatre at Nimes, and the other Roman anti-
quities, fill one’s soul with astonishment and admiration for
that gigantic nation. But when you step from among those
grave and sublime masses of stone, a painful feeling comes at
once over you, not so much at the sight of the bad, poor
dwellings of the present generation, but far more at the wild,
brutal features of the people. Among them, well known but
safe enough, live those ill-famed murderers who in our eventful
times are at the call of any vindictive political party-spirit that
may offer to reward them ! On the Pont du Gard how different!
There the mountain stream flows as it did two thousand years
ago ; there fig-trees and pomegranates cluster on the rocks and
climb between the arcades and columns exactly as never-tiring
nature will bid them do two thousand years hence.

4 But I am frightened at perceiving that I myself ought to
live another two thousand years to finish this letter, as on the
fifth page I am only at Nimes. Do not be alarmed. I will but
just communicate to you two pieces of experience I brought
home from this journey: first, that the climate in which we are
born, however early we may exchange it for another, modifies our
temper and obtains unconquerable power over us; the other,HENRIETTA'S LETTERS.

53

that real, true, purely moral, religious, and philosophic culture,
which alone deserves the name of civilisation, has its home only
in the north. . . . And now I take you quickly hack to Paris
by way of Marseilles, where we stopped eight days, and Avignon,
where the Fontaine de Vaucluse was not seen by us. We must
remain the rest of the summer in Paris.’

A truly tragic epoch now approached for Henrietta. Fanny
Sebastiani, a very rich heiress, had reached the age for
marriage, and her faithful governess, who for years and years
had devoted to her the loving care of a mother, had to admit
that after all she had but been playing a part. Those words—11
see the world with its pernicious claims and promises drawing
nearer and nearer, and like a mighty avalanche it will destroy
in a moment what I have planted and tended with such care ’
—began to be realised. Henrietta providentially did not live
to witness their final horrible literal fulfilment.

On the 11th of May, 1824, she writes to her brother Abra-
ham : ‘ Do you remember, dear brother, that day during your
last stay at Paris, when you gave me your word that you
would advise and help me with all your might, and even come
here, if necessary, when I should summon you ? I do not yet
want you to redeem your pledge, although a great change in
my situation was very near occurring already. But the pleasure
of seeing you all here would he very great. The purport of
all this is the following: among ten suitors who since the
General’s return from Corsica (about two months ago) courted
Fanny’s hand, her father was on the verge of choosing the
most brilliant and the most undeserving. How such an affair
is transacted in great French families God has mercifully
spared you from knowing by experience. It was a very sad
time, in which our brother’s 1 presence was of real comfort to
me 1 That match is now out of the question, but in a few
months it is hoped that another will be brought about, of which
we may anticipate as much good for my poor Fanny as the
perilous position of a rich heiress may justify us in expecting.
How much the recent events, with all their exciting ingredients
of intrigue, gossip, vanity, etc., have engrossed and distressed

1 Joseph.54 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

me, even you, dear Leah, with all your maternal feeling,
will but half understand, for such evil elements are far remote
from you and Mendelssohn. Fanny throughout the whole has
simply shown herself brave and good. We shall in a few days
go into the country, where she is to continue her accustomed
way of life until her hour is come. What I shall then make
up my mind to do is yet uncertain—probably go on living in
the house for the first few months after her marriage, and
then, please God, be once more near you.’

On the 10th of June, 1824, she writes further: ‘In order to
explain to you how I could delay so long announcing to you
Fanny’s engagement and rapidly approaching marriage with
the son of the Due de Praslin, I ought to possess the won-
drous talent of our Felix, and describe to you in passionate
music the contrasto d'affetti which for the last three months
has been quite heartrending to me. Words would attempt
it in vain. A few months ago, when a sad choice was very
near being made, I was in the greatest anxiety about her, and
deeply grieved for the melancholy fate that awaited her. But
now that with God’s help another union has been brought about,
of which, even after the fine wedding dresses are worn out,
much good may be expected, and that Fanny is most happy, I
am my own torment. The question of so-called sympathising
friends, “ What do you intend to do ? ” is to me like a sharp-
edged sword. That all the devotion I have lavished upon the
girl these many years was really nothing but a role, and that
now the curtain is to fall, and Fanny, to-morrow, to act in a
new piece, with no part for me to play—I ought all along to
have told myself this, and perhaps I did now and then : but how
different is the reality ! Thank God, my dear sister, that your
Fanny’s marriage will be but new and unmixed joy to you !

‘ Fanny’s intended husband is the son of the Due de Choiseul-
Praslin, a young man of nineteen, who three months ago did not
dream of marriage, but was preparing for the 111 cole Poly-
technique, and just about to enter it. Some friends of the
Sebastiani family, who also knew the duke, dreading a mar-
riage with the son of the Duke of Fitzjames, a depraved,
profligate young man, and at the same time perceiving thatHENRIETTA'S LETTERS.

55

no other proposals were acceptable, suggested to the duke to
propose his son as Fanny’s suitor. He complied at once; the
young man, who had seen Fanny, was willing, and so the
match was made. The wedding will be in September, and on
the same day the young couple will go to an estate of his
parents, which you, dear Leah, know very well from Mme. de
Sevigne’s letters. It is the same chateau which the Surinten-
dant Fouquet built with such lavish expenditure, and where he
himself was arrested during a fete that he gave to Louis XIV.
Through the genealogy of the female branch, this immense,
half-ruined, and to me most distasteful chateau has come down
to the family de Praslin. The ornaments in the rooms are still
the same. Everywhere on the walls you see squirrels (^the
Fouquet arms) painted, pursued by the hissing snakes so well
known in the Colbert arms. The Due de Praslin’s bed-curtains
are the same under which Louis XIV. slept when he spent a
night at Vaux. But in spite of all these antiquities the house
is decaying, and requires upwards of 20,000 francs a year to
keep it from falling to pieces entirely. I know nothing more
dreary than such a large building in the old French style,
with its terraces, courts, cross bars, and bridges, unless it be
animated by numerous inhabitants and domestics, which is not
the case.

‘ Fanny’s new family is known to be economical, careless,
and slovenly ; otherwise they are very worthy people, who
educate their children according to the best principles, and by
their unanimity, as I think, give them an excellent example.
These are the reasons which make the match desirable, for the
young man is neither rich, agreeable, nor clever; but as, to
satisfy the parents, it had to be a duke of ancient descent and a
peer of the realm, or at least an eldest son, choice was limited.
Of anything else that I could wish Fanny has no idea; she
was ready to marry whoever was chosen for her, but now is
as much in love with her bridegroom as could be desired.
She spends the whole day with him at her grandmother’s, who
is keeping her bed in consequence of a burn, and she is very
happy. Meanwhile I am fulfilling my last duty by ordering her
trousseau. How often has this occupation reminded me of you,56 THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

my dear! How many beautiful pieces of linen, made up and
not made up, you probably keep in store for your Fanny ! Here
we have only the trouble of choosing or ordering. But what
lavish expense! They might economise half of what goes to the
lingere, and the thought of it really makes my office very dis-
agreeable. It is, moreover, no slight responsibility ; for how-
ever large the amount—20,000 francs are allowed—Fanny’s
wishes and the artifices of the lingere will always go beyond
the mark.

‘ Dear me, how much have I chatted about this one subject 1
But if I filled sheets I could not tell you how sad I am.’

She further writes about the bridegroom, who was then only
nineteen years old : 4 They have now given the young man all
the teachers he ought to have had before, and he is studying
all at once and together—History, Greek, Latin, German, Law.
What do you think of this ? And yet the General is right in
wishing to retrieve as much as possible what has been neglected.
But I believe, if you wanted such knowledge from your future
son-in-law, you would desire that he brought it with him as a
dowry.’

The end proved worthy of this beginning. The old desolate
chateau and the grandmother ill of her wounds formed a dreary
prologue—still darker when one knows the sequel. The Due
de Praslin murdered his wife, the unhappy Fanny, in the year
1847, and escaped a felon’s death only by suicide. At the
time the trial caused immense excitement, and contributed con-
siderably to deprive the government of Louis Philippe of its
last remains of popularity, as the Duke had been a favourite
at court, and the government was accused of having abetted the
suicide.

Until now we have only considered those passages from
Henrietta’s letters which treat of her own affairs. But her
letters are full of other interesting details; and the activity
of her mind shows itself by the animated descriptions of persons
and events. Unhappily it was then very dangerous to speak
openly in letters, especially for a German living in Paris and
the governess of the daughter of a general in the service of
Napoleon. Thus up to 1815 we find hardly a word about his-HENRIETTA'S LETTERS.

57

torical events; hut when the cannon of the allies sent their
thunder from Montmartre, Henrietta felt that the fetters
were about to fall, and she gives her sister-in-law the following
spirited description of the state of Paris during the battle :—

‘ The thunder of the cannon has pierced the black, heavy
clouds, and I will make use of the clear moment before they
gather again.

i On the 10th of July I received your letter of the 26th of
April: it might have been from another century, for the world
and events now turn with such incredible quickness that two
months may well be thus considered. Europe is once more in
France. The affair has been well and speedily settled; but if
there is room left for France in Europe, this glorious campaign
may have no lasting consequence but unutterable misery. How-
ever, that will be the business of the new congress. It seems
that my German acquaintances have excommunicated me too : I
see no one of my many countrymen now in Paris. On the other
hand I enjoy the pleasure of hearing all the complaints about
vos Prussiens, who really seem to act as avengers, and pillage,
burn, and murder as if they had learnt it out of some legend
of the Middle Ages. But what shocks the people here most
appears to be their want of politeness. Several times already I
have heard them say : “ Les soldats des autres nations prennent,
mais poliment; ce n’est pas comme ces Prussiens!” Meanwhile
I had the pleasure to converse with a regiment of brown
hussars, who camped before our garden for about a week, and was
delighted with the healthy straightforwardness and honesty I
found in many of them. I reproached them that they had
imitated the robbery of the French, whilst the English troops
show themselves so noble and modest; and one of them, decor-
ated with the iron cross, answered, “They hate us in France,
whatever we do, so it does not matter.”

‘ You will be no more surprised than I am, dear Abraham,
to hear how the country round Paris is treated, but you will be
sorry for the miserable end of this charming sinner. St. Denis,
Montmorency, St. Cloud, Sevres, Sfeaux, Malmaison, are ruined
for years, and Paris has a second time been spared as by a
miracle, whilst the most desperate fighting was going on closess THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

by. Since you have had similar experience, you can fancy what
days of anguish I have seen; but things lately bore a more
terrible stamp than anything you ever had in Germany, for you
were united, and here the outbreak of the most dreadful civil
war was daily expected, whilst the foreign armies were at the
gates, which only opened to admit the crowds of wounded
who every hour testified to the approaching danger. During
many nights the dregs of the population of the suburbs,
under the name of federes, went through the streets with
furious yells, and but for the truly heroic conduct of the
Garde Rationale we shoidd have been lost. But as everything,
however dreadful, takes the form of gaiety in Paris, it happened
that during those days of agony the theatres and other public
places were more frequented than at other times. Elegant
ladies in their carriages approached the hostile camp as
near as possible, and the rows of chairs, on which ladies and
gentlemen were lazily lounging, extended very nearly as far
as the English camp at Neuilly. They thought this stupid
carelessness the best way of showing their attachment to the
king.

c Something like that happened to myself, though I do not
possess that lightness of temper. I was sitting one evening with
the child in the Tuileries, chatting with Madame Brochay,
whilst all Paris was in the most fearful commotion; but I only
found it out after I reached home, and heard a horrible tumult
and the firing of guns in the streets and the Champs Elysees.
The next day I read in the papers that the evening before a con-
spiracy to blow up Paris had been discovered—the second time
within fifteen months that we have escaped such a salto
mortale.’1

In the country Henrietta was for some years a near neigh-
bour of Davoust, about whom she writes as follows: 41 must tell

1 We might mention as a justification of the Prussians—if there was a
difference at all between the conduct of the English and Prussian armies—
that the English had not, like us, had the enemy in their own country. The
resentment of a man who has had his fields devastated, his cattle driven
away, his farm burnt down, his wife and daughters abused, when he finds him-
self able to take his revenge, is of course greater than that of another who
has never seen such things.HENRIETTA'S CONVERSION.

59

you as a curiosity that this dreadful Davoust, the terror of the
north, the author of such unutterable misery, is at home the
meekest of men. He has not the courage to give any orders to
the lowest servant without the consent of his lady, who governs
the household as sternly as he used to govern the conquered
countries.’ And in another letter we find : ‘ Marshal Davoust,
his wife, who is the real mistress of the house, and their children
are with us every day. When he first heard my name, he asked
General S., who happened to be with us, whether I had any
relations at Hamburg, as he had known very worthy people of
the same name in that place. Nearly all his servants are Ger-
mans ; his daughters are learning German with real earnestness,
and he always eagerly requests me to tell him whether I think
they get on. I cannot understand the political life of this man
when I see him at home and with his children. He is as good
a father as Abraham, joins in all their games with true ardour,
and his eldest daughter, a girl of fourteen, who is very much
like him, is the gentlest creature I know. I can explain the
atrocities committed at Hamburg under his government only
in one way. He seems to be very dull and ignorant. He is
without influence in his own house, and I suppose was the same
as commander: some miscreant acted in his place. But this
is, of course, all the same to the poor oppressed people, and he
is even more guilty for having allowed such atrocious deeds to
happen.’

As we mentioned before, Henrietta had embraced the Roman
faith, and we have seen even Dorothea change her religion twice,
and at last turn Roman Catholic. The period was favourable
to such changes of mind and creed. One of the sisters of
William Hensel, who died only lately, Louise Hensel, well known
as the author of religious poetry, had also, although the
daughter of a Protestant clergyman, become a Roman Catho-
lic. Marianne Saaling, also beloDging to the nearest friends of
the Mendelssohns, and about whom we shall speak afterwards, is
another instance.

As is the rule with converts, Henrietta was devotedly
attached to the religion she had embraced.

The following introductory words of her last will bear testi-6o THE DAUGHTERS OF MOSES MENDELSSOHN.

mony to the beautiful spirit of mutual tolerance which the
family showed in such affairs.

‘ As in these words I speak for the last time to my dear
relations, I hereby thank them for all the aid and friend-
ship they have shown me during my life, and especially for
having in every way tolerated the exercise of my religion,
and never having shown any hatred towards it. Therefore I
solely attribute it to myself if God has not thought me worthy
of the grace of converting my brothers and sisters to the true
faith, the Roman Catholic. May the Lord Jesus Christ grant
my prayers and inspire them all with the light of His grace 1
Amen.’ Then follow the dispositions about her little fortune
and many keepsakes, and the will concludes: ‘ I beg my brothers,
or those relations who will open this my last will, to grant me
the funeral service of the Roman Catholic Church, and to let
me be buried early in the morning as quietly and simply as pos-
sible. On my tombstone I should wish the name, Maria Hen-
rietta Mendelssohn, and on the cross I request to be erected on
my grave, the words “ Redemisti me, Deus, Deus Veritatis.”
May the Lord be with me in my last hour, and may He give
His blessing to all my dear relations in life as in death! ’

After the marriage of Fanny Sehastiani, Henrietta returned
to Berlin, and lived in close relations with the family of her
brother, Abraham Mendelssohn Bartholdy, who with his eldest
son Felix came to fetch her from Paris. She died on Novem-
ber 9, 1831, as her niece Fanny Hensel writes in her journal,
‘ With such tranquillity, such a clear consciousness, and such
solicitude for others, to the last moment, that her death was the
crown to her beautiful life.’ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTH0LD7.

Abraham Mendelssohn,1 the second son of Moses, was destined
to add a new and even more brilliant lustre to the name by his
son Felix. He himself expressed this by the modest humorous
words, 4 Formerly I was the son of my father, and now I am
the father of my son.’ These words show the character of the
man. It is true that he stands between the firm adherence to
Judaism of Moses and the sincere Christian faith of Felix and
Fanny, between the philosophic views of his father and the
aesthetic views of his children ; but he was himself a harmonious,
independent, vigorous character, and had nothing of the epigon
in him.

We know little of his youth down to the beginning of the
century. In the year 1803 he occupied the office of a cashier
in the counting-house of Messrs. Fould, at Paris. Here he
probably often talked about his future prospects with his sister
Henrietta, in her cosy arbour in the Eue Richer, and in their
conversation she very likely often mentioned her intimate friend
Leah or Lilia Salomon 2 as a suitable wife for her brother.
Leah’s family enjoyed an agreeable social position in Berlin.
G. Merkel, who was intimately acquainted with the Salomon
family, and kept up a lively correspondence with Leah, after her
death in 1842 restored some of the letters to her family, and at
the same time gave the following description of her youth : —

Leah Salomon. That was her maiden Dame. Her elder
brother had adopted the name of Bartholdy, after the former
proprietor of the garden belonging to the family.3 Leah was

1 Born December 11, 1776.	2 Born March 26, 1777.

3 This garden, situated on the Spree in the Kopenick Street, subsequently

belonged to Abraham Mendelssohn, and will, by-and-by, be often mentioned

as ‘ the farm,’ or the ‘ Meierei.’62

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

not handsome, but her eloquent black eyes, her sylph-like
figure, her gentle, modest behaviour, and the power of her lively
conversation, full of accurate j udgment and striking but never
malicious wit, made her most attractive. She was acquainted
with every branch of fashionable information ; she played and
sang with expression and grace, but seldom, and only for her
friends; she drew exquisitely; she spoke and read French,
English, Italian, and—secretly—Homer, in the original
language. Secretly 1 How would others have boasted of their
knowledge! Her taste, formed by the classic authors of so
many languages, was exact and refined, hut she seldom ventured
to pass a judgment. A most speaking trait of her character
was this: by the legacy of some relation she was in possession
of a considerable fortune, but her dress was always as simple
as it was elegant, whilst she allowed her mother, who was not
nearly so rich, a liberal income, and carefully kept house for
her. The following letters in their noble simplicity give a
finishing touch to her portrait, which after these forty years is
still before my mind’s eye.

Berlin : July 2, 1799.

After four weeks’ illness my dear grandfather died. Your
feeling heart needs no explanation why I did not answer you
then. Continual suspense and fear, violent emotions during
his last unhappy days, the awful impression made upon my
mind by the slow extinction of his strength, then the terrible
aspect of death, the general sorrow, and my own grief in the
midst of the mourning of all the others, my anxiety about my
dear mother, who is deeply afflicted—all this produced a state of
mind rendering all communication impossible. I also remem-
bered that you do not like 4 sweet melancholy,’ and that only
my most intimate and indulgent friends can bear with me in
this mood. I imagined I heard you exclaim ‘Vive la joie! ’
as a kind of inharmonious echo to my sad emotions ; and thus,
what otherwise would appear unaccountable and strange to you
and me, is quite comprehensible and natural.

At present only quiet loving remembrance softly touches
my mind. The mild season, the enjoyment of healthy free air,LEAH’S LETTERS.

6 3

a delightful life in the most lovely garden, social pleasures, the
important office of housekeeper, the serious duty of doing the
honours in our little reunions, agreeable occupations, the
charming, undisturbed aspect of beautiful nature, fill my heart
with the purest pleasure, indeed with thorough happiness. I hope
you will keep your promise and visit us in our little paradise
this autumn. But the name £ paradise ’ must not make you
expect wonders. The flat, meagre soil of Brandenburg, its
entire want of anything romantic, may tell you that art alone
has to supply the richness and greatness of beautiful nature.
Happily good taste has prevented a feeble imitation of English
parks, grottoes, lilliputian rocks, and new ruins (as in your beloved
Monbijou). Imagine the thickest, coolest shade of venerable
chestnuts, limes, and sycamores ; lofty arched avenues, plea-
sant seats, and pretty arbours, abundant gifts of Flora and
Pomona, kitchen-plants, hothouses, certainly interesting as
proofs of industry and diligence, and you have an exact idea of
our summer residence. Add a comfortable little country house,
buried in vines, mulberry-, and peach-trees, in which I
occupy a neat but very simple little room with my piano, book-
case, and desk as furniture, and the portrait of my Henrietta
and fresh flowers as only ornament, space and arrangement not
for grand society but for the small circle of a few friends, the
whole quiet, cheerful, and secluded.

Pardon my chattering about such unimportant things, but
I am surrounded in this garden by the most cherished remem-
brances. Under these trees, planted and cultivated with real
love by my dear grandfather, I have dreamt the rosy dreams of
childhood ; every path, every spot is sacred and interesting to
me, in sweet remembrance of past times. Here my feelings
developed, here my youthful mind ripened, and the half-slum-
bering thoughts of my soul took definite form in this charm-
ing solitude; here I read my favourite poets with a higher
enjoyment, here I learned to understand and appreciate the
advocates of liberty, justice, and truth; and I even fancy that
the weak notes my unskilled fingers produce are here more
melodious and pure. Thus my imagination surrounds every-
thing here with higher splendour, and you must pardon the64

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

enthusiasm of a foolish girl. And have not you yourself at
Sansouci felt that what one puts into the objects around one,
and the beauty which one’s imagination gives them, is generally
worth more, and gives a higher pleasure than can be got from
a cool examination ?

True to your custom, you have again broken your word
to our friend Itzig. I hear pretty often from him. He has
long ago given up all hope of seeing you at Wittenberg. He
remains faithful to his good resolutions, and is working hard.
His only recreation consists in walking, writing poetry, read-
ing good books, and intercourse with the numerous in-
reresting strangers arriving at his hotel. I rejoice to see him
ripen into early honourable manhood by his own independence
and firmness. I am indeed very happy to have such true and
constant friends, and to feel that many of my early attach-
ments grow stronger and firmer every year.

His old friend, my eldest brother, still lives at Mayence;
the doings of the French and the close investigations they have
established are very interesting for him. Sometimes he strolls
through the lovely environs, and only a short time ago he went
down the Ehine as far as Coblenz and Bonn with Professor
Kiesewetter, whom he met by chance at Mayence. The latter
arrived here a few days ago, and has given us very satisfac-
tory news of my brother’s way of living and the society he
cultivates.

A few weeks ago I made the acquaintance of a countryman
of yours, and was very much pleased to find out that he had been
your schoolfellow. His name is Polchau, and he has already
returned to his residence at Hamburg. A gentle, amiable man;
his prepossessing face has an expression of good-nature, which
gained him the confidence and sympathy of all. I had been
told that his melancholy appearance was the consequence of an
unhappy attachment. You can fancy how this idea moved my
imagination, how sincerely I sympathised with him, and how I
found him even a thousand times more interesting when I
believed that he suffered from an excess of tenderness and
faithfulness. He is passionately fond of music, and has the
finest voice I have heard for a long time. His choice ofLEAH S LETTERS.

65

songs seems to suit his character entirely : the playful French
manner and the ornamental many-coloured music of the Italians
offend his simple taste; but with what true enthusiasm and
inimitable expression did he sing the appropriate melodies
of Reichardt and Zelter to Goethe’s divine verses, and the
enchanting, sweet music of Graun! It was a real pleasure
to see such pure unfeigned enthusiasm and such healthy and
candid feeling for everything true art produces.

Mentioning true and genuine art reminds me of asking
you for your opinion of ‘ Wallenstein’s Death.’ I hope it has
reconciled you to the ‘ Piccolomini,’ which, if I am not mis-
taken, did not satisfy you. According to my imperfect notions,
it is a masterpiece. The abundance of thought, the charm
of expression, the noble simplicity and poetical beauty, added
to the interesting subject, will not be equalled nor even imitated
for a long time. But even if you were bent on blaming every-
thing, I know that your critical eye would at least approve of
Thekla. This sublime, heavenly character has shown itself to
you in the most pleasant form, and the most sympathetic to
your heart. (Surely you have seen 6 Wallenstein ’ acted at
Weimar ?) You could not resist this angel of light and human
greatness! I am eagerly looking forward to seeing it on the
stage; I have read it attentively, and am curious to know what
effect the aspect of those divine beings, living and real, and the
charm of the actual representation, will have upon me.

But now to speak of one of your favourites. What do they
say at Weimar, the residence of Genius and Criticism, about
Briickmann's Elegies ? Without being prejudiced in his favour,
I think them very beautiful, especially the one to Klop-
stock, which is distinguished by a bolder, more fiery strain
from the plaintive, soft tone of the others. Please give me
your opinion; I think I know what it will be, but I have such
an earnest desire not to be partial that your judgment, full of
severity, wit, and subtlety, will be very useful to me, along with
my friendly sympathy.

Do you see Kotzebue ? and how do you like him ? As he
is well acquainted with my friend Henrietta, I take an interest
in him, and should like to know something about the man,

VOL. I.	F66

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

although the writer is very indifferent to me. How does the
great herd—assembly, I mean—-of authors live at Weimar?
In peace, or at war? For candidly you must own that all
you learned gentlemen are a queer, quarrelsome set. Please
excuse my bluntness. And what is the newest subject of your
pen—deep policy, serious history, or playful love ? Are you
worshipping a solemn Muse or the smiling Graces and Cupids?
And have you given up your dreadful idea of writing about the
Jews ? Only tell me what god or goddess could reign over
that subject. I cannot find one—I know too little of mythology,
and the inhabitants of Parnassus, Helicon, and Pindus. Per-
haps you think that you have hitherto done all your works
without the influence of such higher powers. But believe the
word of one of the uninitiated ; invisibly and imperceptibly the
glorious God of Inspiration has been near you. Take heed
lest you scare away your silent genius!

But I will no longer fatigue your patience. Many greet-
ings from all my family (always of course excepting the aris-
tocrat), and forgive a humble and perhaps over-bold request
for a generous and speedy answer.	Leah Salomon.

Berlin : August 26, 1799.

. . . How lucky it was that my letter should reach you,
in such delightful company, and such a beautiful place ! It
did not disturb your enjoyment of the agreeable conversation
and of the lovely nature ; only some of those pleasant impres-
sions followed it, when you read it afterwards in solitude, and
made you regard it with a favourable eye. Why cannot I
assure a similar fate to these sheets ? If I could command the
amiable protectors of woods, meadows, and waters, you would
be surrounded by all imaginable pleasure-woods, softly gliding
brooks, and blooming meadows, like some fairy-prince or idyllic
shepherd, and whilst you were catching butterflies in the grass,
a light zephyr or, better still, a beautiful nymph would give
you my letter. But then I am afraid your mind would be
otherwise occupied, and so we had better content ourselves with
the common letter-post.

I certainly did not give you the simple description of myLEAH’S LETTERS.

67

beloved garden to have it compared to your Tibur, and I have
told you why its venerable arbours are so dear to my heart and
memory. I should not even wonder if you found it intolerable,
and can already fancy you laughing at the commonplace
symmetry, where

Grove nods to grove, each alley has its brother

But you shall not make me like it less, much as I shall relish
your jokes about it; for true gratitude and the remembrance
of many scenes of my youth make it interesting for me. I also
acknowledge that our dull monotony can hardly please you, who
have seen happier countries; but with my dreary native soil a
quiet, contented mind has been given me, imaginative enough
to dream of something more beautiful, yet thoroughly enjoying
all the simple charms of my surroundings. Flowers shed their
lustre even here, trees spread their picturesque branches, and
bright green banks are reflected in the clear waves. I imagine
my Arcadia, and am very happy in my narrow mediocrity. But
you must not think me insensible to a richer, nobler nature !
Even the description of milder climes fills me with delight, and
the ideal of all my wishes is to travel through such lovely
countries. Had I been born in Italy, Switzerland, or the South
of France, I am inclined to believe I should have been a
poetess of the slow, descriptive kind. I really fancy spring
would have inspired me there, and poor Echo would have had
to repeat my songs of joy or of woe.

Itzig has finished his studies at Wittenberg, and has been
here several weeks already. But whatever will you say when I
inform you of his conversion to the Christian faith ? Luther’s
birthplace and the scene sanctified by his work have influenced
him. He could not resist the desire to be baptized under the
image of this great man, and to be in some sort protected by
him; and by this step towards the salvation of his soul he has
obtained the worldly advantage of soon getting a place in his
profession. Unfortunately this place will probably be one in
Poland, and I am doubtful whether the difficulties attend-
ing the management of affairs in that country will leave him
perseverance and patience enough to remain true to what he68

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

has chosen. I cannot tell you how sincerely this is my wish ;
for most converts have by their bad, or at least weak, conduct,
caused their step to be regarded with a kind of contempt,
even by those whose intentions are good. Now if some one
stood forth who, by a spotless character, firmness, and worldly
wisdom in his behaviour (according to which, alas ! most judg-
ments are formed), gave an honourable example, a great part
of that well-founded prejudice would vanish. How I wish we
could do without this hypocrisy; but the desire for a higher
sphere of action than that of a merchant, or a thousand tender
ties in which young people become entangled by intercourse
with members of other religions, leaves no other way open. I
believe I never heard your opinion on this subject, and it is very
interesting and important to me. Write to me about it, and
tell me how you are going to treat the matter in your book.

Upon the whole, instead of your truly French gallant piece
of witticism, I should have liked you to give me honest German
information about your book. I prefer facts to phrases ; but if
you insist on using flattery, I will be good-natured enough to
tell you what kind I like best: it is the language of communi-
cative cordiality, of familiar kindness, of that condescending
information which a reflecting mind deigns to give to insigni-
ficant mortals about his plans and ideas—ce n'est pas le ton
des aimahles riens, des fieurettes spirituelles, des toumures in-
genieuses. I was obliged to tell you that in French, because I
think it more fit to express my thought, and because I almost
fancy myself a Parisian every time I think of an exaggerated
compliment.

Now that I am scolding I must reproach you about your
mysterious suspicion. Just as I was very eager to read a few
particulars about Kotzebue—after the first word you inter-
rupt your account by the wicked remark, 4 But stop, you have
not yet answered my request about the non-communicating of
my letter.’ Know then, most anxious sir, that there are many
things of which I am silent because they are matter-of-course.
Clever people guess most things, and, though deception be every-
where, a woman’s character at least does not deceive, since her
indiscretion and talkativeness are apparent on the surface,LEAH'S LETTERS.

69

and they at least never hide themselves. I cannot under-
stand, therefore, how it escaped you that I am discretion
personified, and am very much inclined to attribute to your
wickedness the intention of forcing this confession on me. My
amiable, blushing modesty objects to it very much. But do
not believe that I want to intrude upon your secrecy : I never
asked you about the degree of your intimacy with Kotzebue, but
for your opinion of him, and I generally give my opinion so
candidly that I thought I might ask for yours without appear-
ing indiscreet.

Poor Polchau ! Vous Vavez bien arrange ! But I really
was somewhat mistaken about his romantic love, and I have
since heard that his melancholy is partly the consequence of
the untimely death of his brother. I love him even the more,
for if a powerful passion be interesting, the quiet, longing
fondness of a brother is very touching and affecting. You ask
for my opinion about the constancy of a man’s love-sickness.
That is rather a puzzling question for me who have no routine
whatever in the affairs of the heart. The violent, changeable
character of men gives little opportunity for edifying or con-
solatory observations upon this subject, and for one Werther
and one Polchau there exist a hundred thousand fickle ones,
who call the fire of the moment passion. Of that sacred and
everlasting flame they see only the reflection, which, growing
weaker and weaker, leaves them but the name of a feeling, the
true signification of which remains to them a mystery.

Pray do not give me the public as an authority against the
merits of ‘ Wallenstein.’ Real art is certainly felt and understood
only by the few refined minds; and the circumstance that a
commonplace, tragi-comic family quarrel by. the natural pen of
Iffland is more likely to attract the multitude than the grand
heroes of Schiller, surely does not prove the superiority of
Iffland’s genius. Your fine sense of the beauties of art could
not draw this conclusion! I cannot, it is true, speak of the
effect on the stage, as I have only read 4 Wallenstein,’ but live-
liness of action seems not to be wanting, and if the hero is
powerless against his fate it is in consequence of his own
superstition, which lets him see the approaching catastrophe70

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

only when it is too late. The exquisite, clever acting of Fleck
will probably do more to reconcile you with the unhappy hero
than all I can say for him, therefore you must see ‘ Wallenstein ’
here, and learn to appreciate Thekla by the acting of lovely
Mademoiselle Fleck, who is said to be the personification of
tender feeling and true womanly love in that part.

I really cannot guess which lines in Allwill you have
read two hundred times, and it would be very kind if you came
in aid of my want of penetration. I envy your good fortune
in being so near Wieland, and tbis envious feeling has become
strengthened since I read his delightful ‘ Agathodsemon.’
What a desirable privilege to enjoy such activity and power of
mind in old age, after such a glorious life, and to preserve the
same excellence even in his latest works ! I was very glad to
hear the other day that he still unites the animating warmth
of the heart and the love of beauty with his everlasting youth-
fulness of fancy. He has paid the amiable Sophie Brentano a
compliment as elegant and exquisite as it was finely expressed.
But surely you know that angel, and would make me most happy
by telling me something about her. I have never seen her, and
yet I love her to adoration. I only know her from the descrip-
tion of our mutual friend Henrietta, and from letters. The
talent of letter-writing is generally attributed to all women;
but if they too often deserve this praise only by their easy, flow-
ing style, there are many gradations and more beautiful special-
ties which Sophie possesses in the highest degree. I have
never seen charming delicacy of feeling, exquisite culture,
loving devotion, and inimitable gracefulness of expression so
perfectly combined: she is unparalleled. They say she is
equally charming and delightful in conversation and inter-
course. Kind nature, in forming such a creature, has liber-
ally given everything—soul, wit, feeling, amiability, educa-
tion, and charm. I cannot describe how I long to see her, and
how the sight of so many exquisite qualities combined would
delight me. If she still happens to be at Weimar, remember
me to her, and, if you can, induce her to come here. The
journey is short, and for her grandmother at least there is an
object of attraction here, the Countess Genlis, in whom sheLEAH’S LETTERS.

7i

takes the highest interest. Madame de Genlis lives near our
garden, and we see her daily. This mutual acquaintance could
give us the best opportunity of meeting. With what enthu-
siasm for Sophie has my dear Henrietta inspired me I She
used to overflow with admiration, joy, and emotion when she told
me about her; and her love was not a blind, girlish inclination,
but the clearest conviction of a beautiful nature, an excellent
character, and a cultured mind. You must tell me much, very
much, about her, I beg and entreat you ! I cannot sufficiently
describe the interest I take in her, and if you know her you
must partake of my enthusiastic admiration.

Arland has written, and wishes to be kindly remembered to
you. He is staying at Freienwalde, and the baths and beautiful
nature seem to strengthen him. His life, so full of privations,
a chain of filial duties and constant sacrifices, is truly exemplary
and admirable. One spark of strength and generosity may
kindle in every breast, but the constancy, the continued efforts
which enthusiasm engenders and firm assiduity executes, are
rare and grand. How I wish I could give him the means of
beginning a more beautiful life according to his own taste ! ’

Abraham Mendelssohn seems to have met this young woman
and fallen in love with her on the journey from Paris to Berlin,
He first stipulated that she should live with him in Paris,
because he could not bear Berlin, whilst the girl’s mother would
not hear of her marrying a 4 clerk.’ Henrietta writes about it
to her brother:—

41 need not tell you how heartily I join in your hopes of
a happy result, but I must confess that it appears to me nearly
impossible that you should succeed under your conditions. And
yet, dear brother, this marriage would be the greatest blessing to
you in every respect, and I cannot but entreat you not to be too
hasty, and not to sacrifice too much to your position, which, though
certainly advantageous now, may change in future times.

41 feel as if I were twenty years older than you, and could
tell you from my own experience that at your age people often
rashly overlook their own happiness, even when they find it in
their path ; they always expect everything exactly to suit their72

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

own wishes, and then, while they are hesitating, their happiness
is gone and lost for ever ! I hope to read in your next letter
that you have already seen Lilia; and the oftener you speak
to her, the more you will observe how seldom, if ever,
you can find a woman like her. I do not therefore approve
of your dislike of Berlin having so great an influence on
this most important decision. I could not help charging you
with juvenile want of consideration when I read in your letter,
“ Je prefererais manger du pain sec a Paris ! ” “Dupain sec” is
a very good thing, especially here, where it is so white; but
I always fear that if you continue to work for others without
the means of getting on, and notwithstanding your great
talents are always dependent on caprice and obstinacy, we
know it might become “ du pain amer,” and I pray God that
you may not have to repent afterwards of your present refusal.’

These entreaties, with the voice of his own heart, had their
result. Abraham gave up his place at Paris, entered into part-
nership with his brother Joseph, and married Leah Salomon.
The young couple settled at Hamburg, and a letter from the
bride gives an animated description of the first days of their
married life:—

‘ You want to know, dearest sister, how I get on in my
home and domestic arrangements. I must confess that as yet
there is no more order than in the rooms of the most careless
student, for we cannot think of neat little rooms, housekeeping,
and comforts in the Berlin style ; and when I look at my remue-
menage I can hardly believe that I am really married, the
married state being generally associated with the possession
of a quantity of saucepans, dishes, chandeliers, looking-glasses,
and mahogany furniture. All these delightful luxuries are still
wanting in my chez moi. But if mamma’s and your sense of
order pardon me, I shall not yield to care, and find consola-
tion in the prospect that busy Martha will not long do with-
out the melodious clinking of keys. To-morrow will be our
first attempt at a dinner in our own little home ; the French
pastry-cook will furnish it. I cannot yet procure any house-
hold goods, because there is no room for them, and the chaos
will only be put in order when we leave Hamburg for theABRAHAM'S MARRIAGE.

73

country. A pretty little cottage with a balcony !!! situated on
the Elbe close to the Neumiihlen, has been offered to us, and
we are going to see it. On the evening of our arrival I in-
dulged not only in opening my little box from Paris but also
in trying on my two state dresses. Heavenly! but only fit
to be worn at the court of the Emperor Napoleon. The richest,
glossiest, softest chamois-satin robe, and the most delicate white
and pink figured, exquisitely made up and trimmed. Men-
delssohn was in real enthusiasm. But I maintain that such
ethereal tints are only fit for Miss Hebe. Tell our ladies, for
their comfort, that the “ Medicis ” is nothing but an improved
“Stuart,” and that the collar of the Scotch queen is just as
fashionable as that of the French.’

Abraham and Leah Mendelssohn lived in Hamburg till 1811,
and three children were born in that place : Fanny, the eldest, on
November 14, 1805 (the father, in announcing the birth to his
mother-in-law, adds, ‘ Leah says that the child has Bach-fugue
fingers ’—a prophecy which proved to be true); Felix, on
February 3, 1809; and Rebecca, on April 11, 1811. They
bought the country-house with the balcony the possession
of which the bride anticipated with such pleasure. Here
the young couple spent the first beautiful years of their ex-
ceptionally happy married life; and when, long, long years
afterwards—namely, in 1833—Abraham saw his son Felix a
celebrated, adored artist, the able conductor of the great Diissel-
dorf music-festival, and withal felt himself the venerated father
of a devotedly affectionate son, he wrote to his wife with a grati-
tude we can well understand : i Dear wife, this young man gives
us much joy, and I sometimes think, Three cheers for Marten’s
Mill! ’ That was the name of the Hamburg cottage, and the
father thought of the happy time of his own youth, when his
first son was born, who now realised the highest and proudest
expectations.

We have already mentioned that the family had to leave
Hamburg for Berlin during the French occupation. The state
of things was very sad. In Hamburg they had suffered under
the oppressions of Davoust, and the fate of Berlin during the74

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

first years of their stay there was not much better. Then came
the rising of 1813. Notwithstanding his predilection for
France, Abraham sided fully and wholly with the Germans,
and at his own cost equipped several volunteers. His election
as councillor of the town—Stadtrath—shows that his services
were acknowledged.

In the year 1813, on the 30th of October, the last child,
Paul, was born.

Fanny and Felix showed a decided talent for music, even in
their earliest youth. At first their mother taught' them, after-
wards L. Berger, and lastly Zelter, who was frequently at
the house as a friend, and of whose originality and blunt-
ness some striking traits have been preserved in the family
traditions. Once a very shy young lady was introduced to him
to have her voice examined. He encouraged the trembling girl
by the words, 4 Sing away, I can bear as much as anybody else.’
Thus cheered she began, but was instantly interrupted by Zelter
with the words, 4 Don’t open your mouth in that manner ! ’ Of
course the poor girl lost all control over herself, and after a
truly 4 severe trial ’ she burst into tears. Zelter was sorry for
this, and comforted her: 4 Now don’t cry, dear child ; I really
meant no harm, but with your personal appearance you ought
not to open your mouth like that.’ In a conversation about
genius and its limits, Zelter, to illustrate his assertion that
nothing was impossible to genius, went so far as to say, 4 Non-
sense, a genius can curl the bristles of a pig.’ At table he used
to say, 4 As long as I have water, I decline beer and drink wine.’

Abraham’s method of education was severe—in some things
showing the old Jewish despotism. 4 Faithful and obedient till
death ’ was the admonition he gave his daughter Fanny on
the day of her confirmation. Her confirmation is a subject
which we must dwell upon. Of Moses’s children, Dorothea and
Henrietta embraced the Roman Catholic faith, as already men-
tioned. The sons remained Jews. But Abraham saw that this
was only a question of time, and resolved that his children should
be educated in the Christian Protestant faith. It is to be sup-
posed that he consulted his brother-in-law, who had become a
Christian and had adopted the name of Bartholdy; for in aTHE NAME BARTHOLDY.

75

letter, of ■which unfortunately we only possess fragments, he
writes : 4 You say you owe it to the memory of your father;
but do you think you have done something bad in giving your
children the religion which appears to you to be the best ? It
is the justest homage you or any of us could pay to the efforts
of your father to promote true light and knowledge, and he
would have acted like you for his children, and perhaps like me
for himself. You may remain.faithful to an oppressed, persecuted
religion, you may leave it to your children as a prospect of life-
long martyrdom, as long as you believe it to be absolute truth.
But when you have ceased to believe that, it is barbarism.
I advise you to adopt the name of Mendelssohn Bartholdy
as a distinction from the other Mendelssohns. At the same
time, you would please me very much, because it would be the
means of preserving my memory in the family. Thus you would
gain your point, without doing anything unusual, for in France
and elsewhere it is the custom to add the name of one’s wife’s
relations as a distinction.’ Abraham followed this advice on all
points.

So the children were brought up as Christians, secretly at
first, not to hurt the feeling of their Jewish grandparents, espe-
cially old Madame Salomon. This lady was very orthodox, and
when her son Bartholdy was converted she cursed him and cast
him off. Fanny was a great favourite with her grandmother, and
often went to see her and to play to her. One day when she
had played exquisitely well, the old woman told her to choose
anything she liked as a reward. Fanny said, 4 Forgive Uncle
Bartholdy ’; and the grandmother, touched by the child’s unex-
pected request, instead of a wish for a new bonnet or some other
piece of finery, as she had probably expected, was really re-
conciled to her son—4 for Fanny’s sake,’ as she wrote to him.
Thence originated a close friendship between uncle and niece,
and a long correspondence.

He was a remarkable man, an accomplished art-critic, and
universally cultivated. In his youth he led an unsettled life.
We have seen in one of Leah’s letters that towards the end of
the last century he lived at Mayence; he afterwards attached
himself to Hardenberg. Varahagen met him often in Vienna76

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLD Y.

and Paris; in later times he lived at Rome as Prussian consul-
general, and, at a period when few people had a taste in that
direction, bestowed all his slender means upon beautiful art-
collections. We shall meet him again in the course of our
narative.

The following few letters of Abraham Mendelssohn’s to his
children, of different dates, will show what an excellent edu-
cator he was.

Hamburg: October 29, 1817.

Your letters, dear children, have afforded me very great
pleasure. I should write to each of you separately, if I were
not coming home in such a short time, and I hope you will
prefer myself to a letter.

You, my dear little Rebecca, have written a very nice
letter, and I am glad you had pity on the poor squirrel and took
it into the room. If you have the same disagreeable weather
we have here, not even an elephant could have stayed out of
doors. But what has mother said about it ? Be a good girl,
industrious and obedient, for I bring something very nice for
you, which you must first deserve.

You, dear Fanny, have written your first letter very nicely ;
the second, however, was a little hasty. It does you credit, that
you do not like B.’s bad jokes; I do not approve of them either,
and it is wicked to try to make people laugh at what is beautiful
and good. Unfortunately conversation and life in society is
almost entirely limited to this pursuit—not a laudable one,
indeed ; and the golden rule will ever hold good, to be silent
rather than say anything unseemly.

About you, dear Felix, your mother writes as yet with
satisfaction, and I am very glad of it, and hope to find a faith-
ful and pleasing diary. Mind my maxim, 4 True and obedient! ’
You cannot be anything better, if you follow it, and if not you
can be nothing worse. Your letters have given me pleasure, but
in the second I found some traces of carelessness, which I will
point out to you when I come home. You must endeavour to
speak better, then you will also write better.

Your letters, my dear little king of the Moors, also calledABRAHAM'S LETTERS.

77

Paul Hermann, were the best of all, without a single mistake,
and beautifully short. I praise you in good earnest for your
conduct, of which mother, Rebecca, and Fanny give such
a charming account. I wonder where I shall get the goats
for you ?

To see you all again will be a very great pleasure for me.
I send you my love.

Amsterdam : April 5, 1819.

Of your two letters, my dear Fanny, the second, with your
tragi-comic complaints of having nothing to write about, was
more correctly and carefully written than the first, in which you
only speak about the theatre. You are now old enough to find
subjects to write to me about, not only in the daily events, but
also in your thoughts. I should like to hear now and then
what ideas your occupations awaken in you. As long as I
was at home, for instance, mother told me much about your
lessons with the clergyman. You should do that yourself now ;
so that I may see by your letters, now that I cannot personally
watch it, what influence his teaching has on your heart and
mind. Above all, let it be that of more and more strengthen-
ing your endeavour to please your loving and revered mother,
and to arrive through obedience at love, through order and
discipline at freedom and happiness. That is the best way of
thanking and worshipping the Creator, the Maker of us all.
There are in all religions only one God, one virtue, one truth,
one happiness. You will find all this, if you follow the voice
of your heart; live so that it be ever in harmony with the
voice of your reason.

You know from my letters to mother how I get on. Daily
and hourly do I think of you in true affection.

Your faithful father,

A. M. B.

Paris : July 2, 1819.

I cannot deny myself the pleasure, dear Fanny, to tell you
in a special letter how much your last letters have pleased me.
They are carefully and well written, and you have at last dis-78

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

covered the secret to write to me about yourself and the others
with real sense and feeling—and not about the theatre. I do
not often bestow praise, but I do so the more conscientiously
when there is a cause for it, and I like your letters especially
because they are what they should be, natural and full of love
for those around you. Indeed I do love you !	‘ Love me still,’

you say. I hope the best is still to come.

Do not be vexed with your stoutness; it is one more re-
semblance to your mother (and you can never be enough like
her, for there is not her superior). When quite young, she was
also very stout, and I hope she will be so again. I cannot
recommend you to resemble me, for in the character of a woman
I have charms only in tableaux vivants.

Paul’s account of his ‘joys and sorrows’ has given us
infinite amusement. I am sorry to say that Fanny Sebastiani
betrayed no sign of jealousy; her love for him is perfectly
unselfish.

Give Rebecca, and the boys if they will hold still, a kiss
from me. I will add a few lines to each.

Your father and friend,

A. M. B.

First to you, dear Paul! I have been very well satisfied
with your two last letters, and thank you for them. I wish you
would not press so much on your pen. Get Mr. Gross to cut
some for you, and then Uncle Joseph will cut them in the same
way ; keep your fingers loose, and sit upright. I have not at
once answered your question regarding your marriage to Mieke,
because I wanted to consider the matter. Now I think we will
wait till I come home, so that I may see Mieke first. If I find
her properly washed and you are a good boy for a fortnight, we
can speak about it.1

You, my dear Felix, must state exactly what kind of music
paper you wish to have; ruled or not ruled, and if the former
you must say distinctly how it is to be ruled. When I went
into a shop the other day to buy some, I found that I did not
know myself what I wanted to have. Read over your letter
1 Mieke was the gardener’s daughter, then four years old. Paul was six.ABRAHAM’S LETTERS.

79

before you send it off, and ascertain whether, if addressed to
yourself, you could fully understand it and execute the commis-
sion contained in it.

You, dear Rebecca, have not written to me for a long time,
and shall not have a letter from me. You must be content
with a kiss or a fillip—on paper. By-the-by, your last letter
was a downright scrawl; I dare say the farm-quills are to blame
for it.

I beg to remind mother of the drilling-master for all of
you. I think a good one might be found somewhere at Neuf-
chatel. Felix must diligently practise swimming, but only in
the swimming school. I hope the prohibition of gymnastics
will not extend to our innocent place.

Your father and friend,

A. M. B.

In the year 1820 Fanny was confirmed, and her father wrote
to her the following letter on the occasion : —

Paris.

My dear Daughter,—You have taken an important step,
and in sending you my best wishes for the day and for your
future happiness, I have it at heart to speak seriously to
you on subjects hitherto not touched upon.

Does God exist ? What is God ? Is He a part of ourselves,
and does He continue to live after the other part has ceased
to be ? And where ? And how ? All this I do not know, and
therefore I have never taught you anything about it. But I know
that there exists in me and in you and in all human beings an
everlasting inclination towards all that is good, true, and right,
and a conscience which warns and guides us when we go astray.
I know it, I believe it, I live in this faith, and this is my religion.
This I could not teach you, and nobody can learn it; but every-
body has it who does not intentionally and knowingly cast it
away. The example of your mother, the best and noblest of
mothers, whose whole life is devotion, love, and charity, is like a
bond to me that you will not cast it away. You have grown
up under her guidance, ever intuitively receiving and adopting
what alone gives real worth to mankind. Your mother has8o

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDV.

been, and is, and I trust will long remain to you, to your
sister and brothers, and to all of us, a providential leading star
on our path of life. When you look at her and turn over in
your thoughts all the immeasurable good she has lavished upon
you by her constant self-sacrificing devotion as long as you live,
and when that reflection makes your heart and eyes overflow
with gratitude, love, and veneration, then you feel Grod and are
godly.

This is all I can tell you about religion, all I know about
it; but this will remain true, as long as one man will exist
in the creation, as it has been true since the first man was
created.

The outward form of religion your teacher has given you
is historical, and changeable like all human ordinances. Some
thousands of years ago the Jewish form was the reigning
one, then the heathen form, and now it is the Christian. We,
your mother and I, were born and brought up by our
parents as Jews, and without being obliged to change the form
of our religion have been able to follow the divine instinct in
us and in our conscience. We have educate^ you and your
brothers and sister in the Christian faith, because it is the
creed of most civilised people, and contains nothing that
can lead you away from what is good, and much that guides
you to love, obedience, tolerance, and resignation, even if it
offered nothing but the example of its Founder, understood by
so few, and followed by still fewer.

By pronouncing your confession of faith you have fulfilled
the claims of society on you, and obtained the name of a
Christian. Now be what your duty as a human being demands
of you, true, faithful, good; obedient and devoted till death to
your mother, and I may also say to your father, unremittingly
attentive to the voice of your conscience, which may be sup-
pressed but never silenced, and you will gain the highest
happiness that is to be found on earth, harmony and contented-
ness with yourself.

I embrace you with fatherly tenderness, and hope always
to find in you a daughter worthy of your, of our, mother. Fare-
well, and remember my words.ABRAHAM’S LETTERS.

81

The same earnest, strict notion of the duties of children
towards their parents—and also of parents towards their chil-
dren—pervades the whole system of education. This father did
not believe he had done enough when he provided the best
teachers for his children; he educated them himself, and as
long as he lived thought none of his children, though grown
up, too old for his discipline or even correction.

The following letter dates from the same period as the

last

Paris : July 16, 1820. Sunday, and most lovely weather.

Dear Fanny,—You have written me many long and good
letters during my present absence from home, and I am truly
satisfied and thankful. I have become your debtor, which is a
drawback, not only because I must plead guilty, but also be-
cause it is now too late to answer many things in your letter,
and I must limit myself to the few last.

I hope and trust that your mother may have made up her
mind for the journey, and that I may be able to persuade your
aunt Henrietta to-morrow. Both, however, may have their own
good reasons for not wishing to travel, which we must then
respect, and give up the pleasure. If so, it will be harder
for you than for me, because you are younger and consequently
more curious. On the other hand, you have much time still
before you, to see and enjoy what is beautiful, whilst the few
years I may yet be spared will soon have passed away. How
fast the vital faculties decline, when once the constitution has
received a shock, I am, to my great grief, daily reminded of by
the deplorable state of poor Madame Bigot. I am afraid you
will not see her again, and you would hardly recognise her. She
constantly puts me in mind of Heine’s coarse but expressive
words about the ever-memorable S.—‘ A pity for that beautiful
soul in such a vile body! ’

You beg me to be at ease about your intercourse with M.
and A. Why should I be uneasy about it, when I know that
you have too much sense and modesty to be intrusive ? I for
my part have always felt a sort of misgiving against coming in
as a third upon the already existing close union of two. The

VOL. I.	G82

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

third is always the scapegoat. The fourth and fifth, etc., no
longer spoil anything; on the contrary, they rather generalise
the conversation, whilst the third destroys intimacy. Whoever
provides against being the third is almost always certain of being
welcome, at least not unwelcome. Your line of conduct towards
M. and A. will shape itself quite naturally.

Your last songs are at Yiry, where I shall fetch them to-
morrow, and then I must find some one who will sing them
decently to me. M. Leo has played me Felix’s last fugue, very
imperfectly.1 He pronounces it very good and in the true style,
but difficult. I liked it well; it is a great thing. I should not
have expected him to set to work in such good earnest so soon,
for such a fugue requires reflection and perseverance. What
you wrote to me about your musical occupations with reference
to and in comparison with Felix was both rightly thought and
expressed. Music will perhaps become his profession, whilst for
you it can and must only be an ornament, never the root of
your being and doing. We may therefore pardon him some
ambition and desire to be acknowledged in a pursuit which
appears very important to him, because he feel&a vocation for it,
whilst it does you credit that you have always shown yourself
good and sensible in these matters; and your very joy at the
praise he earns proves that you might, in his place, have merited
equal approval. Remain true to these sentiments and to this
line of conduct; they are feminine, and only what is truly
feminine is an ornament to your sex.

My thanks to Rebecca for her letter, and to Paul for his
postscript, which is pretty well written; but his h’s and k’s are
still far from perfect—the broad figure of the latter keeps my
own embonpoint in countenance.

Tuesday.— They went over your Romances yesterday at
Viry, and you will be glad to hear that Fanny Sebastiani sang
‘Les soins de mon troupeau’ very nicely and correctly, and
likes them much. I confess that I prefer that song to all the
others—so far as I can judge of them, for they were only
very imperfectly performed. It is bright, and has an easy,
natural flow, which most of the others have not; some of them
1 Felix was then eleven years old.ABRAHAM’S LETTERS.

83

axe too ambitious for the words. But that one song I like so
much that since yesterday I have often sung it to myself, whilst
I remember nothing of the others; and I think facility one of
the most important qualities of a song. At the same time it is
far from trivial, and the passage £ si j’ai trouve pour eux une
fontaine claire ’ is even very felicitous; only it appears to me
to give too' decided an end to the lines immediately following
the words ‘ s’ils sont heureux.’ I strongly advise you to keep
as much as possible to this lightness and naturalness in your
future compositions.

Mother wrote to me the other day that you had com-
plained of a want of pieces for the exercise of the third and
fourth finger, and that Felix had thereupon directly composed
one for you. Madame Bigot thinks that if those fingers do
not get on like the others, the true reason is not a want of
exercises, but of exercise, of real, earnest practice. She says
that you ought to spend a part of your practising time every
day in observing quite mechanically the movement of those
fingers, without regard to music or expression, and that Cramer
has composed a number of pieces calculated to strengthen them ;
these have to be played again and again, slowly and with con-
stant attention to a firm motion of the two weak ones. She
says that in this way and by indefatigable patience she has
succeeded in making all her fingers equally strong, and that this
is the only way. I hope you will consider this advice.

As I do not believe that mother will come to Coblenz, the
time of our meeting must be somewhat delayed; but I hope
that the ill-omened saying about matters deferred will not
prove true in our case, and that we may all meet again in
health and happiness.	Your Father.

Aunt Jette wishes you to send her some of your Grerman songs.

On Fanny’s twenty-third birthday Abraham wrote to her as
follows:—

Every year makes us both 365 days older. Who knows how
often I may yet congratulate you on your birthday, and speak
a serious word to you ? or how long you may be able and willing
to hear it ?84

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

I will, then, tell you to-day, dear Fanny, that in all essen-
tial points, all that is most important, I am so much satisfied
with you that I have no wish left. You are good in heart and
mind. 4 Good ’ is a small word, hut has a big meaning, and I
would not apply it to everybody.

However, you must still improve! You must become
more steady and collected, and prepare more earnestly and
eagerly for your real calling, the only calling of a young
woman—I mean the state of a housewife. True economy is
true liberality. He who throws away money must become either
a miser or an impostor. Women have a difficult task ; the con-
stant occupation with apparent trifles, the interception of each
drop of rain, that it may not evaporate, hut be conducted into the
right channel, and spread wealth and blessing; the unremitting
attention to every detail, the appreciation of every moment and
its improvement for some benefit or other—all these and more
(you will think of many more) are the weighty duties of a
woman.

Indeed you want neither mind nor sense to fulfil them
faithfully, and yet there is ample scope left for constant en-
deavour to strengthen your will, to collect your thoughts,
and arrive at a right choice and appreciation of your occupa-
tions. Do this as long as you can freely, and before you are
compelled. Whilst Providence still allows you to live with your
parents, try to do many things better than they do. Give a
solid foundation to the building, and there will be no want of
ornaments.

But I won’t preach, and am not old enough to prate.
Accept once more my fatherly wishes, and take my well-meant
advice to heart.	Your Father.

It was the chief principle of Abraham’s method of education
that every progress made is nothing but a progress, that what
is good may be still better—in a word, that education is never
finished, and that fathers and mothers, as long as they live, must
never cease to be the guides and counsellors of their children.
This view is a thoroughly Jewish one. It becomes an evil when
grown-up sons or daughters have to bow to the will of a fatherA CAREER FOR FELIX.

85

in his dotage, and are kept in forced minority, until death
breaks the unnatural fetters. But when, as in this case, the
father becomes in time a paternal friend, who by his good
counsel continues naturally to maintain the beautiful office
of a ruler, then his authority is the most beneficial that can be
imagined. An exquisitely beautiful relationship subsisted be-
tween Abraham and his son Felix, and it is not too much to
say that without this father Felix Mendelssohn would never
have become what he was. The career of a musician was at
that time much less frequently pursued than it is now, and—in
Germany especially—is a thorny and deceitful path. Indeed
by many clever and distinguished men the profession of music
was not looked upon as a proper career. Abraham’s brother-
in-law Bartholdy writes to this effect:—

‘ I cannot quite agree with you in your not pointing out a
positive vocation to Felix. It could and would be no hindrance
to his talent for music, which is so universally acknowledged.
The idea of a professional musician will not go down with me.
It is no career, no life, no aim; in the beginning you are just
as far as at the end, and with full consciousness of its being
so ; as a rule you are even better off at first than at last. Let
the boy go through a regular course of schooling, and then pre-
pare for a state-career by studying law at the university. His
art will remain his friend and companion. So far as I can
judge of the present state of things, there is more need than
ever of people that have pursued a university study. Should
you design him for a merchant, let him enter a counting-house
early.’

Happily Abraham was not influenced by this advice. Felix
learned and studied hard, and attended lectures on law, but
his father allowed him to fix upon music as his actual career,
and the result has proved that it was not a bad choice. The
father’s whole endeavour was bestowed upon giving this career
a firm, earnest purpose and direction. He constantly drew
his son’s attention to the old masters, especially Bach; it
was he who urged him to the composition of ‘ St. Paul,’ and
insisted on his accepting a fixed employment. Music was to be
to him a matter of real earnestness, and not a mere recreation.86

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

With reference to the directorship of the Diisseldorf town
theatre, accepted and soon resigned again by Felix, he wrote 1:—

‘With regard to the administrative career, it gives rise to
another series of reflections, which I wish to impress upon you.
Those who have the opportunity and the inclination to become
more closely and intimately acquainted with you, as well as
those to whom you have the opportunity and the inclination to
reveal yourself more fully, cannot fail to love and respect you.
But this is really far from being sufficient to enable a man to
enter on life with active efficiency; on the contrary, as you
advance in years, and opportunity and inclination fail, both in
others and yourself, it is much more likely to lead to isolation
and misanthropy. Even what we consider faults will be re-
spected, or at least treated with forbearance, when once firmly
and thoroughly established in the world, while the individual
himself disappears. He has least of all arrived at the ideal of
virtue who exacts it most inexorably from others. The sternest
moral principle is a citadel, the outworks of which may well be
relinquished if by so doing we can fix ourselves more firmly in
the centre, and defend that with our very life.

‘ Hitherto it is undeniable that you have never been able
to divest yourself of a tendency to austerity and irascibility,
suddenly grasping an object and as suddenly relinquishing it,
and thus creating for yourself many obstacles in a practical
point of view. For example, I must confess that though I
approve of your withdrawing from any active participation in
the management of the details of the Diisseldorf theatre, I by
no means approve of the manner in which you accomplished your
object, since you undertook it voluntarily, and, to speak can-
didly, rather heedlessly. From the beginning you, most wisely,
declined any positive compact, and only agreed to undertake
the study and conducting of particular operas, and, in accord-
ance with this resolution, very properly insisted on the appoint-
ment of another music-director. When you came here some
time ago with the object of engaging your rank and file, I did
not at all like the idea ; I thought, however, that as you were
to be here at all events, you could not with politeness decline
1 Already published in Lady Wallace’s translation of Mendelssohn's Letters.FATHER AND SON

8 7

this service. But on your return to Diisseldorf, after wisely
refusing to undertake another journey for the purpose of making
engagements for the theatre, instead of persevering in this
intention and getting rid of all annoyances, you allowed your-
self to he overwhelmed by them; and as they naturally became
very obnoxious to you, instead of quietly striving to remedy
them, and thus gradually get rid of them, you at one leap
extricated yourself, and by so doing undeniably subjected your-
self to the imputation of fickleness and unsteadiness, made a
decided enemy of a man whom at all events policy should have
taught you not to displease, and most probably offended and
lost the friendship of many members of the committee, among
whom there are no doubt most respectable people. If my view
of this matter is incorrect, then teach me a better one.’

In the same letter Abraham Mendelssohn writes about
Felix’s lifelong craving for a good opera-text: £ I must once more
resume the subject of the dramatic career, as I feel very anxious
about it on your account. You have' not, according to my
judgment, had sufficient experience, either of production or
administration, to decide with certainty that your disinclination
towards it proceeds from anything innate in your talents or
character. I know no dramatic composer, except Beethoven,
who has not written a number of operas, now totally forgotten,
before attaining the right object at the right moment, and
making a place for himself. You have made only one public
effort, which was partly frustrated by your text, and, in fact,
was neither very successful nor the reverse. Since then you
have been too fastidious about the words, you did not succeed
in finding the right man, and perhaps did not seek him in
a right manner. I cannot but think that, by more diligent
inquiries and more moderate pretensions, you would at length
attain your object.’

Such was Abraham’s counsel to his son with regard to his
career as a musician. But his advice did not stop there. So
sound was his musical judgment, and so fine his ear, that Felix
—in reply to a criticism on one of his compositions—thus
writes 1 to him :—

1 Already translated by Lady Wallace.88

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

‘1 have still to thank you for your last letter, and my “ Ave.”
I often cannot understand how it is possible for you to have so
acute a judgment with regard to music, without being techni-
cally musical; and if I could express what I feel with as much
clearness and intuitive perception as you do, as soon as you
enter on the subject, I never would make another obscure
speech all my life long. I thank you a thousand times for this,
and also for your opinion of Bach. I ought to feel rather pro-
voked that after only one very imperfect hearing of my com-
position you at once discovered what, after a long familiarity
with it, I have only just found out; but then again it
pleases me to see that such a definite sense of music exists,
and that you in particular possess it; for the deficiencies in
the middle and end consist of such minute faults, which might
have been remedied by a very few notes (I mean by their being
struck out), that neither I nor any other musician would have
been aware of them without repeatedly hearing the piece,
because we in fact seek the cause much deeper. They injure
the simplicity of the harmony, which at the beginning I like so
much; and though it is my opinion that these faults would be
less perceptible with better execution, especially with a numer-
ous choir, still some traces of them will always remain.
Another time I shall endeavour to do better.’

Although, as we have seen, Abraham was of opinion that a
girl’s only vocation was that of a housewife, it was a matter of
deep importance to him thoroughly to develop the great talents
existing in his daughter, and Leah perfectly agreed with him.
Fanny thus learnt thorough-bass, and had instruction in
the theory of composition; as to piano-playing, she stood in
many respects on a level with her brother. As early as 1818,
when only thirteen, she gave a splendid proof of her uncommon
musical memory by playing twenty-four Preludes of Bach’s by
heart as a surprise for her father. The following passage from
a letter of Henrietta’s is characteristic of Abraham: ‘Fanny’s
wonderful achievement of learning twenty-four Preludes by
heart, and your perseverance, dearest Leah, in superintending
her practising, have made me speechless with astonishment,
and I have only recovered the use of my voice to make thisEDUCATION OF THE CHILDREN.

89

great success generally known. But with all the intense admi-
ration I feel both for you and Fanny, I must confess that I
think the thing decidedly blamable: the exertion is too great,
and might easily have hurt her. The extraordinary talent of
your children wants direction, not forcing. Papa Abraham,
however, is insatiable, and the best appears to him only just
good enough. I fancy I see him during Fanny’s performance,
happy and contented in his mind, but saying little. But the
children will soon discover that they are his pride and joy, and
will not mind his stoic appearance.’

Fanny did not lose her excellent musical memory : during her
residence in Borne, for instance, her copious repertory of Bach,
Beethoven, and nearly all the German classics proved very useful
to her, as music was not to be had.

At first the parents themselves undertook the scientific
instruction of their children; but here Henrietta’s remark
proved right—‘the best was only just good 1 enough’; and as
Abraham’s discriminating eye had found out Zelter as the
proper teacher of music, so in his choice of a tutor he was no
less happy: it fell on Heyse, afterwards so famous as a philo-
logist, and father of Paul Heyse the poet. Heyse remained
in the Mendelssohn family for several years, and to him the
children were indebted for their well-grounded scientific infor-
mation. As Felix did not wish to learn Greek by himself, his
younger sister Bebecca joined these lessons, and with her great
linguistic talent acquired such a knowledge of the language
that many years afterwards she read Homer and Plato without
difficulty, and her help was gladly accepted by her nephew and
two sons at their Greek lessons.

In 1819 Abraham made a journey to Paris alone, on business
—the negotiation of the war-indemnity to be paid by France
to Prussia. We can imagine how unwillingly he left his family •
the ‘ pain sec a Paris ’ had lost its old attraction.

Henrietta writes to Leah: ‘ I have been truly glad to see
the good, honest, noble brother, husband, and patriarch again.
He has already paid me a visit here in the country, and our
thoughts reverted to you and the children, and the rich blessing

1 Quotation from Goethe’s Italian Journey, since become proverbial.go

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

God has given him in you all; it pervades everything good that
happens to him. But I really do not know how the poor man
will manage to spend his summer alone at Paris. Even the
opera-bouffe seems to have lost its charm for him, and with
good reason he prefers the musicians of his home-orchestra to
the most celebrated virtuosi. However, he appears to me quite
resigned, and I must say that in many respects I think him
even improved ; he knows that he is happy, and the vivid sensa-
tion of his happiness has made him younger ; he is no longer
the stern philosopher, only grave as becomes a man, and some-
times in the tender frame of mind natural to a husband and
father separated from all he loves.’

His absence proved longer than had been anticipated ; his
letters to Fanny already quoted date from this time. At last,
in the autumn of 1820, he returned home. In the letter
which Henrietta gave him for his wife we read: ‘ Dearest
Leah,—Now you have your dear, noble husband home again,
and quite as you must wish him, with a slight tinge of ill-humour
against the France of to-day. Whether this will raise Berlin
in his estimation I do not know ; anyhow, he never forgets
that his happiness has both bloomed and ripened into the most
beautiful fruit there; and for such fruit he readily foregoes
some of a more substantial kind which does not grow in your
climate.’

We can easily understand the disagreeable impression which
the state of France in 1820 would make on a liberal-minded,
almost republicanly inclined, man, especially if we take into
account the drawbacks of his situation during his residence in
that country. We may assume, however, that the pecuniary
result of the journey was a good one, and compensated for a
rather uncomfortable twelvemonth, the more so as the ensuing
ten years, from 1820 to 1830, were a period of undisturbed
happiness.

In the autumn of 1821 Felix for the first time ventured
forth from the parental roof, and, accompanied by Zelter, the
intimate old friend, travelled to Weimar, and spent a fort-
night in Goethe’s house. Shortly before his depasture he had
begun to practise the art of improvisation, and at Weimar heFELIX AND GOETHE.

91

extemporised in the presence of Goethe, Hummel, many artists,
and the court. We subjoin a few passages from the letters
which Felix, then eleven years old, wrote to his parents :—

Weimar : November 6, 1821.

. . . Now 1 listen, all of you. To-day is Tuesday. On
Sunday, the Sun of Weimar, Goethe, arrived. We went to church
in the morning, and heard half of Handel’s music to the 100th
Psalm. The organ, though large, is weak; that of St. Mary’s
church is smaller hut much more powerful. The Weimar one has
fifty stops, forty-four notes, and one thirty-two feet pipe.

After church I wrote to you that little letter dated 4th
instant, and went to the Elephant Hotel, where I made a sketch
of Lucas Cranach’s house. Two hours later Professor Zelter
came, calling out: 4 Goethe has come, the old gentleman has
come ! ’ We instantly hurried downstairs and went to Goethe’s
house. He was in the garden, just coming round a hedge.
Isn’t it strange, dear father—just the same as it happened with
you! He is very kind, but I do not think any of his portraits
like him. He then went through his interesting collection of
fossils, which has been newly arranged by his son, and said
repeatedly: ‘H’m, h’m, I am quite satisfied.’ After that I
walked in the garden with him and Professor Zelter, for about
half an hour. Then we went to dinner. He does not look like
a man of seventy-three, rather of fifty. After dinner, Fraulein
Ulrike, Frau von Goethe’s sister, asked him for a kiss, and I
followed her example. Every morning I have a kiss from the
author of ‘Faust’ and ‘Werther,’ and every afternoon two kisses
from the father and friend Goethe. Think of that! In the
afternoon I played to Goethe for about two hours, partly
fugues of Bach and partly improvisations. In the evening
they arranged a whist table, and Professor Zelter, who took a
hand, said: ‘ Whist means, that you are to hold your tongue.’
There’s one of his good expressions for you. We all had sup-
per together, even Goethe, who doesn’t generally take it. Now
something for you, my dear coughing Fanny! Yesterday

1 Already published in Goethe and Mendelssohn, by Professor Carl M. B.,
translated by Miss M. E. von Glehn, Macmillan and Co.92

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDV.

morning I took your songs to Frau von Goethe, who has a good
voice and will sing them to the old gentleman. I told him
that you had written them, and asked him whether he would
like to hear them. He said, ‘ Yes, yes, with pleasure.’ Frau
von Goethe likes them very much indeed, and that is a good
omen. To-day or to-morrow he is to hear them.1 *

On Monday I went to see Frau von Henkel, and also his
Royal Highness the hereditary Grand Duke, who was very much
pleased with my Sonata in G minor. On Wednesday evening a
very pretty opera, 4 Oberon,’ by Wranitzky, was given. On
Thursday morning the Grand Duke, the Duchess, and the Heredi-
tary Grand Duke came to us, and I had to play. And I played
from eleven in the morning till ten in the evening, with
only two hours’ interruption, finishing with Hummel’s Fantasia.
When I was with him the other day, I played the Sonata in
G minor, which he liked very much, also the piece for Begas,
and yours, dear Fanny. I play much more here than at home,
seldom less than four hours, and sometimes even eight. Every
afternoon Goethe opens his instrument (a Streicher) with
the words, ‘ I have not yet heard you to-day—now make a
little noise for me.’ And then he generally sits down by my
side, and when I have done (mostly extemporizing) I ask for a
kiss, or I take one. You cannot fancy how good and kind he is
to me, no more can you form an idea of the treasures in
minerals, busts, prints, statues, and large original drawings,
etc., which the polar star of poets possesses. It does not

1 Goethe then composed for Fanny the following verses, which he wrote

down himself and gave to Zelter with the words, ‘ Take that to the dear

Weimar: November 10.

child’:—

Denn ich mir in stiller Seele
Singe leise Lieder vor,

When to quiet musings given,

With my songs and strains alone

Wie ich fiihle dass Sie feble,
Die ich einzig mir erkor :

All my thoughts to her are driven
Whom I fain would call my own :

Mocht’ ich hoffen, dass Sie stinge
Was ich Ihr so gem vertraut,

Might I hope to hear her singing
What to her I would impart,

Ach 1 aus dieser Brust und Enge
Drangen frohe Lieder laut.

All my bosom would be ringing
With the transports of my heartGOETHE AT WEIMAR.

93

strike me that his figure is imposing; he is not much taller
than father; but his look, his language, his name, they are
imposing. The amount of sound in his voice is wonderful, and
he can shout like ten thousand warriors. His hair is not yet
white, his step is firm, his way of speaking mild. On Tuesday
Professor Zelter wanted to take us to Jena, and from there
straight to Leipzig. (We are often at the Schopenhauers’. On
Friday I heard Molke and Strohmein there. On the stage
here there is—think of that, Fanny—a singer fourteen years
old, who the other day in ‘ Oberon ’ sang d in alto pure and
strong, and whose voice reaches to the f above). On Saturday
evening, Adele Schopenhauer (the daughter) was with us, and
Goethe against his custom spent the whole evening in our com-
pany. Our departure was spoken of, and Adele decided that we
would all throw ourselves at Professor Zelter’s feet and beg for
a few days’ delay. We dragged him into the room, and then
Goethe began with his voice of thunder to abuse Zelter for
wanting to take us to that old nest, as he called it. He ordered
him to be silent and obey without resistance; to leave us here,
go to Jena alone, and come back again. Professor Zelter was
besieged from all sides, so he had to give in, and do everything
as Goethe wished. And now Goethe was assailed from all sides,
they kissed his mouth and his hands, and whoever could not get
at them patted and kissed his shoulders ; and if he had not been
at home, I believe we should have carried him heme in triumph,
as the people of Rome did Cicero after the first Catilinian
speech. Fraulein Ulrike also embraced him ; and as he makes
love to her (she is very pretty), the whole thing had a good
effect.

On Monday at eleven there was a concert at Frau von
Henkel’s. Of course, when Goethe says, ‘There is company
to-morrow at eleven, little one, and you too must play us some-
thing,’ I cannot say ‘ No! ’

Leah had sent these letters to Henrietta, and she gives
vent to her enthusiasm as follows :—

‘ How. can I ever thank you enough, dearest Leah, for the
pleasure these delightful letters have guen me! You are a
happy mother I It is impossible to tell you how deeply they94

ABRAHAM MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDV.

have moved and delighted me. What I feel when I think of
that boy, so gifted and enthusiastic, so full of feeling, so gentle
and natural, would appear to you like nonsense if I tried to
put it into words. But no, you feel it yourselves. You, loving
mother, must feel it in your mother's heart, and thank Provid-
ence for giving you such children and such a son. He is an
artist in the highest sense, rare talents combined with the
noblest, tenderest heart. If God spare him, his letters will in
long, long years to come create the deepest interest. Take care
of them as of a holy relic—indeed they are sacred already as the
effusion of so pure, childlike a mind. How beautiful it must
have been to watch his frank and familiar intercourse with the
noble old man, Goethe, the poet-king. The constant dream of
our youth—the delight of living near Goethe—has been fulfilled
in Felix, and Abraham’s continual humming when he was young
has ripened into the extraordinary talent of his son. I thank
God that he has granted you the happiness to see this dny.
Our poor mother hardly anticipated such results when She was
impatient with your continual singing, dear Abraham! You
sang then the choruses from Schultz’s “ Athalie,” and she used
to exclaim, “ How sick I am of tout Vunivers ! ” ’

The life of Abraham Mendelssohn is in future so closely
linked with those of his children that we will henceforth con-
sider them jointly.WILHELM HENSEL.

We must now mention an event which, though apparently quite
unconnected with our narrative, had in course of time the greatest
influence on the life of Ahraham Mendelssohn’s eldest daughter,
Fanny. In the month of January 1821 the Hereditary Grand
Duke Nicholas of Russia and his consort were in Berlin, and
grand court festivities took place in their honour. On January
27, tableaux vivants and pantomimic representations were
given, the subjects taken from Moore’s poem ‘Lalla Rookh,’
which had then just appeared and was making its way round
the whole of Europe. The magnificence of the display, the
jewels and pearls, the costly draperies and weapons, the as-
semblage of so many representatives of beauty and rank, gave
a rare and delightful character to the festival. When the re-
presentation was over, the performer of Lalla Rookh, the Grand
Duchess herself, exclaimed with a sigh, ‘ Is it really over now?
And are those who come after us to have no remembrance of
this happy evening ? ’ The king heard this, and as tableaux
vivants are sometimes arranged in imitation of pictures, so he
resolved to have these tableaux vivants painted in a drawing-
room book by the young artist who had arranged them, all the
performers sitting for their portraits. Wilhelm Hensel, before
his work was sent to St. Petersburg to the Grand Duchess,
exhibited it for a few days in his studio, and there made the
acquaintance of Fanny Mendelssohn Bartholdy, who had come
with her parents to admire his beautiful drawings, and who
in later times became his wife.

In the early history of this artist, we are surrounded by
quite a different atmosphere, almost a different world, from the
one hitherto described. The ideas, the views, the conditions of96

WILHELM HENSEL.

education, all are different, even the race is not the same.
Until now we have been watching a family of pure Jewish
descent, tracing its origin from Palestine; and as we dug
up the roots of the family, the cosmopolitan character of
Judaism showed itself in our migrations through the various
towns and countries in which we met their ancestors—Dessau,
Berlin, Paris, Hamburg; and although in patriotic feeling true
Germans, they had in their education many French elements.
On the other hand the origin of the Hensel family is found
in the plains of North Germany, and their type is decidedly
Christian-Teutonic. Thus the conditions of life were widely
opposed, and Wilhelm Hensel and Fanny Mendelssohn Bar-
tholdy, both typical representatives of their race, were as
different as possible. And yet it proved that their natures
harmonised beautifully together; each supplied the wants of
the other, and thus, without either of them giving up anything
of their originality, they formed a most happy unity.

Wilhelm Hensel’s father was a poor country parson, first at
Trebbin—where, on July 6, 1794, Wilhelm was born—and then
at Linum; both scanty little villages in the neighbourhood of
Berlin, in the dreary sands of the Mark, and Linum surrounded
by endless peat bogs.

In spite of his very small income and the oppression of the
Napoleonic time, Hensel succeeded in keeping up an honourable
position for his family. He died early, but his wife survived
till the autumn of 1835 ; and, after years of anxiety and want
during and after the war, the widow enjoyed the happiness of
witnessing the start, the success, and the marriage of her son.

From his early days Wilhelm showed a great taste for paint-
ing. He spent all his leisure time partly in painting, partly
in preparing requisites for it, making his own colours out of
fruit, leaves, or roots—for there were no paint-boxes at Linum,
and the means of the family were not enough to provide them
on a sufficient scale.

It appeared impossible to the parents to fulfil Wilhelm’s
ardent desire of devoting himself to art. He had to embrace
a vocation that would secure his livelihood, and with a heavy
heart chose that of a mining engineer. Yet every free minuteHIS EARLY STRUGGLES.

97

was given up to art, and by a piece of good luck it happened
that a clever art-critic saw one of Hensel’s drawings. He dis-
covered decided talent in the little picture, and, when he learnt
that the young artist was entirely self-taught, urged him to
abandon the mining career and to study painting. Nor did he
stop there, but procured him the necessary support during the
first few years.

Thus Hensel had for the present moment obtained what he
wished. However, care and trouble became his lot; for the
pecuniary assistance he received was so small as to be barely
sufficient for his own wants ; and, young as he was, he had to
charge himself with duties and responsibilities of the heaviest
kind. His father died, and Wilhelm, though still a mere child,
became the head of the family; the widow and her daughters
had to be maintained, without suffering for his having given up
the mining profession. Art therefore, though yet to be studied,
had at once to provide bread. No work seemed too hard for
Wilhelm. He made illustrations for pocket-books and almanacs;
he learnt etching, so as not to be obliged to share the produce
of his drawings with some one else. To accomplish this he
had to work at night by the light of a thin tallow candle, and
to this night-work must be attributed the shortsightedness of
his later years. The pretty illustrations of Arndt’s tales are
specimens of his etchings.

His work was interrupted by the outbreak of the war in
1813. Hensel was not for a moment doubtful what to do : he
was one of the first to enlist as a volunteer, took an honourable
part in both campaigns, and was wounded several times.

He was present at both triumphal entrances into Paris, and
after the conclusion of peace left the army and remained in the
French capital, in order to devote some time to the study of its
art-treasures.

After his second return from France he was for a while
uncertain whether he should not give up painting and turn to
literary pursuits. Some friends, especially Brentano, Chamisso,
Arnim, and Tieck, tried to persuade him to do so. Those were
sad times, and the young painter’s prospects were unfavourable.
The prosperity of many families had received a severe, blow and

VOL. I.	H98

WILHELM HENSEL.

most people were obliged to exert all their strength to satisfy
the common wants of life. A period of need and privation had
destroyed all taste for the beauty and ornament of life, and
there was but little prospect of the furtherance of arts. Private
persons did hardly anything in this direction, and the govern-
ment, even if willing, had not the necessary means. Hensel’s
poetic talent was considerable, but his love of painting carried
the victory, and poetry remained only 4 a friend and playmate.’
Regardless of all obstacles he continued his way. We think
this the proper place to insert an account of what Bartholdy
was at this very time doing in Rome towards relieving a similar
*state of things. The following two letters on the subject are
addressed to his brother-in-law Abraham:—

Rome : December 25, 1816.

I can write nothing but good about Veit. He is an able and
active man. He is now working at the second cartoons for my
room, and the progress he has made in the few months since
he did the first fresco is hardly credible. Altogether these
paintings have been a real benefit to our artists, not because of
the sums which my slight means have enabled me to give them,
and which I have given gladly and unselfishly, but because of the
development of their own powers, to which without their being
conscious of it I have helped them, and indeed with full
intention have forced them.

February 6, 1817.

You want to know some particulars about my fresco-
paintings. I will give you an account of my doings. When I
came here, I found many German and Prussian artists of talent
and genius, with no opportunity of turning their abilities to
account; no work, no orders, except paltry drawings for book-
sellers, and now and then a portrait, or a small, half-finished
composition or oil-painting, just the symptom of a longing to
create something. The bad consequence was not only that
the artists remained unknown, but even that they did not
know themselves, and in a kind of excitement of the imagina-
tion overrated their own powers. Such a state of things, andBARTHOLDY'S FRESCOES.

99

so helpless and awkward a position, filled me with pity. I did
not believe my influence sufficient for claiming official assistance
in their behalf; nor did I know what to ask for, nor indeed how
to make myself understood, considering the barbarism at Berlin
in regard to artistic matters. Therefore I had myself to undergo
some sacrifices, and even to expect some abuse, which is never
wanting when any one carries out an enterprise of more or less
public character. I have entered upon it with joy and courage,
as I shall always do when I think I can be of service to my
country.

Fresco-painting was the most suitable for all my purposes :
(1) because, if successful, it is a lasting monument of artistic
labour in Rome, the centre of the world of art, where the truth,
whether good, bad, or indifferent, soon comes to light; (2)
because it affords the artist an opportunity of discovering his
own powers, in a kind of work where quickness of execution is
necessary, and constant correcting, reflecting, and refining is
out of the question ; (3) because the size of the work allows its
faults and merits to be easily seen; (4) because when several
young artists work together palpable blunders are sure not to
escape without notice from one or other, and thus emulation is
excited; (5) lastly, because it affords them the means of work-
ing at one’s profession for a year.

The room is beautifully light and airy, with an extensive
view of Rome.1 I have not put any constraint upon my artists
either in the choice and arrangement of the subjects or in
any other artistic matters, but have candidly given them my
opinion when they showed me their sketches, and my criticisms
have been well received. The lease of my house, where they
are painting, lasts for another four years. After that time,
supposing the state of my affairs in Italy to be still the same,
my not over-modest landlord is sure to raise my rent so much
that I shall not be able to remain. I have resigned my claim
on the cartoons. Copies on a small scale I shall send to his
Majesty. Thus I have shown the artists and all people who
know anything of the subject that I am not guided by selfish

1 The house on Monte Pincio is still called Casa Bartholdy.loo

WILHELM HENSEL.

interests. Neither can anybody accuse me of vanity, for I keep
in the background as much as possible, and perhaps may even
not escape ingratitude. God knows that the expense is heavy
for me, and that, with so many other necessary expenses and
my unfitness for economy, I pass many a sleepless night,
pondering over the sums I 6pend, and how I shall scrape so
much money together. But the really rich people do nothing,
or only for their own private purposes.

Henrietta writes to Leah about the frescoes : ‘ Veit, Schadow,
and another young German artist1 (I almost think he is from
Berlin) are at this moment painting Bartholdy’s rooms al
fresco. Is not that quite in his own grand style ? He ought
to be a Pope, Bartholdy I. and Leo X., who resembled him
in loving all that is great and beautiful, without thinking of the
cost.’

Bartholdy himself, although no productive artist, took an
active part in literature. His chief work is the ‘History of the
Rising of the Tyrolese against the French,’ of which Immermann
owns to have made good use in his tragedy of ‘ Andreas Hofer.’
Heine, in the second volume of his ‘ Reisebilder,’ says: ‘ Bar-
tholdy’s “ War of the Tyrolese Peasants in the year 1809 ” is a
clever, well-written book, and its shortcomings are easily ex-
plained by the zeal with which the author, like all generous
minds, takes the part of the oppressed, and by the fact that
at the time he wrote gunpowder-smoke still clouded the
events.’

He also wrote the Life of his friend and protector, Cardinal
Gonsalvi. Of his beautiful art-collections we have already made
mention.

There was no such friend and protector of art in Berlin at
that time, and Bartholdy was right in calling the state of things
there barbaric. The Berlin artists had to be .content with the
same scanty means of existence as those in Rome, before Bar-
tholdy, to the best of his endeavours, lent them a helping hand
— chiefly ‘ miserable booksellers’ drawings.’

1 Cornelius, Overbeck, and Schnorr were employed by Bartholdy beside
those named above.SENT TO ITALY.

IOI

As in our time calendars and almanacks, so then pocket-
books were the fashion, and Hensel eagerly resumed his work,
and also furnished literary contributions. His industry at length
found its reward; the drawings of 4 Lalla Rookh ’ made him
generally known, and he received from the Prussian Government
a scholarship enabling him to study in Rome, accompanied by
an order to copy 4 Raphael’s Transfiguration ’ in the size of the
original. This journey was of the highest influence on his
artistic career.

His essentially German nature and direction of life had
happily found a firm and immovable basis in his love for Fanny,
before he wetit to Rome, although the parents did not allow
a formal engagement until his return. They wanted to guard
their child from every possibility of a disappointment, and we
cannot blame them for not fully recognising the strength of
Hensel’s character and the depth of his love after such a short
acquaintance. They were, moreover, afraid of his being con-
verted to the Roman faith—an apprehension for which his poetic
nature, the example of his sister Luise, and the Roman belief
and Roman sympathies of all his above-mentioned friends, gave
sufficient ground. Fanny alone, in this respect as in all others,
placed unbounded confidence in him.

Thus he had to part for long years without being accepted ;
but this uncertain and incomplete state had its own charm.
Before he set off he drew the portraits of the whole family and
their nearest friends, and thus took as it were mentally his place
in the circle to which he wished to belong. These portraits and
Leah’s letters were, during the whole time of his absence, all
that linked him to the family. For the strict mother had not
permitted a correspondence with Fanny. Her reasons for this
are thus given in a letter to Hensel:—

4. . . Seriously, dear Mr. Hensel, you must not be angry
with me because I cannot allow a correspondence between you
and Fanny. Put yourself, in fairness, for one moment in the
place of a mother, and exchange your interests for mine, and
my refusal will appear to you natural, just, and sensible, whereas
you are probably now violently denouncing my proceeding as
most barbaric. For the same reason that makes me forbid an102

WILHELM HENSEL.

engagement, I must declare myself averse to any correspondence.
You know that I truly esteem you, that I have indeed a real
affection for you,, and entertain no objections to you personally.
The reasons why I have not as yet decided in your favour are,
the difference of age, and the uncertainty of your position. A
man may not think of marrying before his prospects in life
are, to a certain degree, assured. At any rate he must not blame
the girl’s parents, who, having experience, sense, and cool blood,
are destined by nature to judge for him and for her. An artist,
as long as he is single, is a happy being, all circles open to him,
court favour animates him, the small cares of life vanish before
him; he steps lightly over the rocks which difference of rank
has piled up in the world ; he works at what he likes and how
he likes, choosing his favourite subjects in art, and roving
poetically in other regions, the most delighted, happy being in
the whole creation. As soon as domestic cares take hold of
him, all this magic disappears, the lovely colouring fades, he
must work to sustain his family. Indeed I made it a point in
my children’s education to give them simple and unpretending
habits, so that they might not be obliged to look out for rich
marriages; but in the eyes of parents a competency, a moderate
but fixed income, are necessary conditions for a happy life ; and
although my husband can afford to give to each of his children
a handsome portion, he is not rich enough to secure the future
prosperity of them all. You are at the commencement of your
career, and under beautiful auspices ; endeavour to realise them,
use well what time and favour hold forth to you, and rest
assured that we will not be against you, when, at the end of your
studies, you can satisfy us about your position. Above all, do
not call me selfish or avaricious, my gentle tyrant! Otherwise
I must remind you that I married my husband before he had
a penDy of his own. But he was earning a certain although
very moderate income at Fould’s in Paris, and I knew he would
be able to turn my dowry to good account. My mother’s
ambition, however, would not allow me to be the wife of a
clerk, and Mendelssohn therefore had to enter into partnership
with his brother, from which period, thank Grod, dates the
prosperity of both! Fanny is very young, and, Heaven beTHE ENGAGEMENT FORBIDDEN

103

praised, has hitherto had no concern and no passion. I will not
have you, by love-letters, transport her for years into a state of
consuming passion and a yearning frame of mind quite strange
to her character, when I have her now before me blooming,
healthy, happy, and free.’

Leah kept her word, and wrote frequently; although her
letters were a poor compensation for what Hensel desired. But
he found a remedy: he made his art speak to her whom he
was not allowed to address in words. The delightful drawings
he sent to Berlin are still preserved; in all of them the ideal-
ised and poetically surrounded figures of the Mendelssohn circle
recur again and again, and Fanny is ever the chief character.
Such homage must have been more irresistible than the most
eloquent letters, and also the straightest way to the mother’s
heart, as the following two passages from her letters may
prove:—

‘. . . First of all, I must express to you my long-delayed
but heartfelt thanks for your highly welcome gift of the album-
drawing. I cannot tell you how much its exquisite beauty of
execution and fine delicate idea has surprised and touched
us. The spiritualised, a la Hensel idealised likeness of the four
children has not escaped our eyes. Although since your absence
they have so much changed and grown, and somehow got coarse-
grained, that your ideal likeness only represents them as they
were, yet Schadow, whose sharp eye never fails to discover a
likeness, at once discovered the original of the organist. I
have never seen anything of the kind more elegant, neat, lovely,
and perfect in execution, either by yourself or any other artist.
The beauty of the group, the combination of earnestness and
grace, the lovely, childlike, and yet thoughtful expression of
each individual head, the arrangement of those four angels
watched over by a truly Raphaelic Cecilia, all this is another
proof to me that you have chosen the highest, purest of all
artists as your ideal.’

'	Berlin : March 6, 1826.

Many thanks for the beautiful, darling little picture! I
should not have thought it possible to give the heads of the104

WILHELM HENSEL.

Muse and the Sphinx so much expression in so little space. But
we are all too stupid to guess at the hidden meaning of the
riddle, although each person and each attribute are perfectly
distinct. The colour, grouping, and arrangement are very
lovely and graceful. Again I notice your constant endeavour
to imitate my beloved Raphael, and I admire the depth of the
dark eyes, which is seen in spite of the small scale. But I
earnestly wish you would not fritter away your time by so many
small productions. However, you must know best how to
divide your time and labour, how to continue what you have
begun, and how much and what kind of leisure an artist ought
to allow himself.

Many, many thanks for all your trouble in behalf of the
Bartholdy collection.1 I wish we had done putting this chaos
in order ! Your account concerning the removal of the frescoes
is very interesting. But for more than one reason we shall not
avail ourselves of the offer—not only would the expense be much
too considerable for a hobby, but the difficulty of properly
placing pictures of that size must also be taken into account;
and—so't dit entre nous—with all the interest these frescoes
may claim as first specimens, it is still questionable whether
they are worth the money and trouble. In short, let us say no
more about the matter, nor think of frescoes in our house here.
Although I gratefully acknowledge your kind intentions, you
will understand that a plain citizen’s house is not the place for
such costly and time-absorbing adornments. For instance, we
should be obliged, for years together, to give up the use of such
a room; and if you had but the slightest idea of the turmoil,
dust, noise, and expense caused by this, I am sorry to say, much
too large house of ours, and likely to continue till late in
summer, you would understand my dread at the very thought of
fresh workmen, plaster, scaffolding, etc. Moreover, in a time
like ours, when all property is uncertain, and rarely descends to
the second generation, I think it an unwarrantable encroachment
upon the rights of posterity to build anything of value into the
wall, so that it cannot be oarried off. What was right and

1 Bartholdy had died shortly before the letter was written.THE TRANSFIGURATION.

105

proper for my brother, a bachelor, and living in the land of
art, would be wicked in me, the mother of four children not
yet provided for. We live on such a liberal footing, and my
husband has such pleasure in giving, that undoubtedly people
think us much richer than we are.

Whatever amount of care and trouble the possession of our
very expensive house has involved upon me, we may perhaps
ascribe to the high figure of the sum my husband has invested
in it (a much larger amount than we had believed) the fact
that his losses during this dreadful time have been comparatively
slight. Eighteen houses have failed, among them such first-
rate firms as Reichenbach in Leipzig and Goldschmidt (con-
sidered to be worth many millions) in London. Some of our
acquaintance are in prison, others have committed suicide. I
cannot describe to you in sufficiently gloomy colours the desola-
tion, panic, present ruin, and dismal future prospects. They
say that Rothschild’s mania for business on a gigantic scale is
the reason why all mercantile transactions have grown so dis-
proportionate, and like everything exaggerated had to come to
a fall.’

The time which Hensel spent in Italy, mostly in Rome,
he turned to excellent profit. The copy of the Transfiguration
afforded him most important instruction and improvement as
an artist. It took nearly four years, beginning with a complete
cleaning of the original, by means of which a quantity of details
hidden under a crust of the dirt of centuries were brought to
light. His picture found a place in the Raphael Saloon at
Sansouci.

He also worked at a great picture of his own, Christ and
the Woman of Samaria, which became the property of the King
of Prussia.

After a residence of five years Hensel left Italy, which,
notwithstanding his longing for Germany, had become very
dear to him, and which he always regarded as his second father-
land. In one of the small two-wheeled carriages then used in
Italy for quick travelling he hurried across the Alps, travelling
night and day, and on to Berlin, with the greatest possibleio6

WILHELM HENSEL.

speed. Here he was rewarded : he found Fanny still free. She
too had passed eventful years, most important for her develop-
ment. We now leave the sketch of Hensel’s life, which will be
traced further on together with that of the Mendelssohn Bartholdy
familyTHE JOURNEY TO SWITZERLAND.

On the 6th of July, 1822, Abraham Mendelssohn Bartholdy, with
all his family, set out for a journey to Switzerland. The com-
pany consisted of the parents, the four children, aged sixteen,
thirteen, eleven, and nine, their tutor Heyse, a Dr. Neuburg,
and several servants. At Frauilf-on-the-Maine two very intelli-
gent and amusing young ladies joined them, Marianne and Julia
Saaling, the latter subsequently Heyse’s wife. Such a journey
was then a most extraordinary thing. A series of very circum-
stantial letters from Fanny to a friend gives a minute account of
all the travelling events. On the very first day, between Berlin
and Brandenburg, they had an adventure—Felix was left behind
at Potsdam I When starting, the belief prevailed in each carriage
that he must be in one of the others, and his absence wa3 only
discovered at the first station, Grosskreuz, three good (German)
miles from Potsdam. The tutor instantly drove back, and the
company had made up their minds for a long delay, but after
an hour Heyse returned with the lost boy. At Potsdam he had
appeared just after the carriages had started, and followed them
on the road, for a long time watching the dust they raised, and
running after them, but unable to reach them. He, however,
continued his march, and had determined to walk as far as
Brandenburg. A peasant girl joined him, they broke stout
walking-sticks from the trees, and marched on cheerfully, until
about a (German) mile from Grosskreuz they were met by
Heyse. This good and resolute behaviour, and perhaps too his
speedy appearance, saved him from the rebuke in store for
him. The second day’s journey, a very fatiguing one, went as
far as Magdeburg.io8

THE JOURNEY TO SWITZERLAND.

After a trip to the Harz Mountains, they travelled, via
Gottingen—where thirty-six years afterwards Rebecca’s life
ended, and where they made the acquaintance of Blumenbach—
to Cassel, and enjoyed some animated musical intercourse with
Spohr. At Frankfort, 1 a great conference took place between
father, Dr. Neuburg, and Herr Heyse about the road we are
to follow. I have not yet heard anything about it, but they
maintain that never before has a journey been arranged like
this one.’

At Frankfort, Aloys Schmitt gave them a musical entertain-
ment, which Fanny describes in the following style: ‘ How
longingly did I think of Henning, Rietz, Kelch, Eysold, etc.!
You can’t believe how these good people have tortured our
ears. First came a violin-player from Paris, Ferny, a pupil
of Baillot’s, and of great reputation. I must confess I did not
like him at all—everything so soft and indistinct, no sound, no
firmness of stroke, no power. Felix was of my opinion. Then
they accompanied poor Felix’s quartet. My only pleasure all
the while was to study physiognomy. Then I had to play
something, and now, “ bid me not speak, bid me be silent.”
The whole room full of strange people, pupils and friends of
Schmitt’s, the accompaniment very bad, I myself trembling all
over. My failure was such that I could have beaten myself, and
all the others, with vexation. To break down like that in the
presence of twenty virtuosi! I must quit the subject, or I shall
grow angry again. Then Ferny played a quartet, and lastly
Schmitt’s younger brother some variations composed by himself.
Schmitt has a very nice pSpiniere about him : Eliot junior
from Strelitz was there, and Ferdinand Hiller, Schmitt’s favour-
ite pupil, a beautiful boy ten years old, open-hearted and frank
in appearance.’

From Frankfort the whole merry caravan went southwards,
via Darmstadt and Stuttgart, to Schaffhausen. The two Saaling
girls, overflowing with fun and humour, contributed no small
amount of the necessary travelling spirits. ‘ There is no end of
laughing,’ writes Fanny,£ and especially in the evening when we go
to bed (I always sleep with them) they are most amusing. Mari-
anne has friends everywhere, and wherever she goes is receivedLONGINGS FOR ITALY.

109

with raptures. Just now we are all sitting together writing
letters. Not even in the Chancellor’s office can they be more in-
dustrious. You cannot imagine the disorderly state of our room :
a turnip-field would be a drawing-room in comparison. But we
enjoy ourselves immensely, and if I write incoherently do not
accuse me: there is a dreadful noise going on.’

At the St. Gothard they turned back, and Fanny’s secret
hopes of a glimpse of Italy were for the present disappointed.
She writes : ‘ I have spent a day, dear Marianne,1 the memory
of which will never be extinguished in my heart, but will
influence me all my life. I have seen God’s grand nature, my
heart has trembled with emotion and veneration, and when my
excitement had subsided and I beheld what mankind considers
most beautiful and lovely, when I stood on the borders of Italy,
then my fate decrees, Thus far, but no farther. Never, never
have I felt such a sensation! Sincere gratitude to God, for
granting me such a day; a longing for what was hidden by
the mountains; firm resolutions for my future life—all these
feelings together found relief in a flood of tears. Last night
I would not write to you, as I know you do not like my over-
excited moods, and I was over-excited, but I concealed my
emotion and waited until I was more quiet. But even now,
when I think of yesterday and this morning, my heart swells
within me and I feel strangely exalted. I will give you
with as much composure and order as possible an account of
my events.

‘ Yesterday morning at seven o’clock we left Altdorf. The
sky was somewhat cloudy, but our way went southward, towards
the blue sky. Leaving Biirglen and the Schachenthal at our left,
we entered the valley of the Reuss, which although surrounded
with high rocks is very broad and fertile, exhibiting walnut-
trees, other fruit-trees, and fir-trees of extraordinary beauty.
We passed a tower of Gessler’s, and the old fortress Zwing Uri.
At our left we had the Surene glaciers, Windgalle, Bristenstock,
and other snow mountains and glaciers. On the hills in front of
us, lovely Alps. After passing through a varied landscape, we

1 Marianne Mendelssohn, the wife of Alexander Mendelssohn, son of
Joseph.no

THE JOURNEY TO SWITZERLAND.

came to Amstag, three hours from Altdorf, at the foot of the
Gothard. Here the new Gothard road begins, which on this
side is practicable for two hours, as far as Wasen, and on the
Tessine side is finished. The road is worked into the rocks with
the aid of gunpowder, sometimes on the right, sometimes on
the left hank of the Eeuss, splendidly built and strengthened
by walls. Boldly arched bridges lead over the precipices. It
is a gigantic construction, an everlasting monument for the
Cantons of Uri and Tessine, and a grand illustration of the
power of human perseverance, which can even bend the will of
Nature. Behind Wasen vegetation gradually disappears, the
valley grows narrower, the rocks grow steeper, and the Reuss flows
rapidly andwildly. Near Goschenen,the only village on the whole
way on the left bank of the Reuss, the formidable Goschener
glacier is seen, the first which we approach so closely. As
soon as you reach Schollenen, the last trace of life and of
human beings disappears. All round you see towering rocks,
between which the Reuss has broken its awful bed. Here it quite
loses the appearance of a stream, and forms one continual raging
waterfall. Thus with every step the feeling of dread gains
upon you, until at last, at the Devil’s Bridge, it reaches its
climax. You find yourself completely closed in by the roeks ;
in front of you, in several breaks, rushes down the immense
flood of water ; high above, leading across, the slender but safe
bridge. The cutting wind, which towards evening blows here
and is called the glacier-wind, the snowy peaks here and there
standing forth, the twilight beginning to prevail in this
“ mountain-valley,” and every other surrounding feature, contri-
buted to increase the feeling of awe. A very little upwards
from the Devil’s Bridge is the “ Uri Hole,” a passage of about
eighty feet through the rocks, and at its opening on the other
side I stood almost petrified with wonder at what I beheld.
Spread before my eyes was a lovely, quiet valley, with the most
beautiful green meadows, bordered on both sides by green hills,
with here and there a cottage; in the background the pretty
villages of Andermatt and Ursern, higher up a chapel, in which
the evening bell was ringing, on the right the Gothard, with its
peak sharply delineated in the blue air; on the left the St.THE ST. GOT HARD.

111

Anne’s glacier, with a continuation of the snowy mountain.
At the side, the Furka, with its glacier, the Gothard glacier, and
the Crispalt, where the Rhine has its source. Nothing left of
the wild roaring of the stream, which here glides swiftly but
softly over the rocky ground, not a trace of the horrible awe
by which just before I had felt surrounded. Everywhere quiet,
perfect peace, which dwells in this valley as if it never could
leave it. I shall never forget the impression !

‘We went a few hundred yards further across the meadows
to have a better view of the Annenglacier, but the cold soon
obliged us to return. The only characteristics of a higher region
are the cold air you breathe and the want of vegetation. Except
a few fir-trees near Andermatt, the whole soil is covered with
beautiful meadows. You feel, however, no less powerfully
affected by what you do not see than by the visible surroundings.
The presentiment of the country stretching behind those moun-
tains, the palpable vicinity of Italy, the trivial circumstance
that all the peasant people have been in Italy, speak Italian,
and greet the wanderer with the sweet sounds of that lovely
language, all that touched me indescribably. If on that day I
had been a boy, indeed I should have had to struggle against
my inclination to do something rash. And yet, -whilst on the
one side I felt the most intense desire to see Italy, on the
other I was burning to go by way of the Furka and Grimsel
to the Hasli-thal, all which we might have done easily if it had
been prearranged. That whole day I had calculated the possi-
bility of ascending the Gothard, even if alone with Dominique,1
in the evening; it only takes three hours from the Ursern
valley, but it was impossible, and I had to give it up. At night,
alone in my room, I passed an hour which I shall never forget.
Yesterday morning’s parting seemed very hard. I could not
bear the thought of leaving the lovely, beautiful valley and going
northward once more through that dreadful wilderness and the
deafening noise of the stream. The valley had inexpressible
charms in the morning light, the little chapel Mariahilf was
suffused with a beautiful glow, the dew was sparkling on the
meadows, and the glaciers gittered with a greenish light. Mount

1 The guide.112

THE JOURNEY TO SWITZERLAND.

Gothard lifted its head into the pure air. Nothing can be
compared to the solemn quiet of this morning. I cannot tell
you how deeply I was impressed. And then to turn one’s back
on all this delightful serenity and wind one’s way again through
the awful caverns and wild gorges! But in the clearness of the
morning these too had lost their terrors, or at any rate impressed
me much less awfully than they had done in the evening.

‘ For a good part of the way I walked quite by myself, re-
volving in my mind what I had seen and what had so much
stirred my innermost feelings. In the distance I heard the
sound of the morning bells in the village of Goschenen ; it was
very solemn and beautiful, and on the glacier behind the village
lay the brightest sunshine. I must mention some beautiful
girls to whom we talked at Wasen. On our way home we
drove through Biirglen, once more visited Tell’s chapel and the
old ivy-mantled bower, and rested from the heat in the shade
of the walnut-trees. The valley is uncommonly beautiful and
romantic. With Marianne, Herr Heyse, and Bebecca I walked
back to Altdorf by a pretty footpath.’

The travellers went by way of Interlaken and its obbligato ex-
cursions to the Wengern Alp, the Hasli-thal, and the Staubbacb,
mostly in bad weather, to Vevey, on the lake of Geneva. Here
once more the plan of crossing the Alps and getting a glimpse
of Italy was suggested, and again Fanny is full of joyous hopes.

‘ To-day again I write in a kind of intoxication ! I never
seem to have seen anything more beautiful than this lake and
its scenery. Splendid weather withal, and if it remains so
we are off the day after to-morrow to the Borromean Islands.
Think of that, the Borromean Islands ! I thank heaven that
there must be our limit, for if we went still farther I believe I
could not stand it—too much at a time for a poor earth-born !
Fancy what our journey will be if this weather continues! Only
follow our way on the map from the lake to Wallis, past Leuck,
over the Simplon to the Lago Maggiore, and you will conceive
that I feel as if I were going to be carried on the clouds to paradise.
And I do not know why, but I fancy that on the islands some-
thing quite wonderful and unexpected will happen to us. With
all this anticipation I am scarcely in a frame of mind for revert-GOETHE.

Ii3

ing to my account of the three days we spent at Berne, and yet
they too were very pleasant.’

Our travellers, after a visit to Chamouni, turned homeward,
stopping a month at Frankfort on their way, in order to make
acquaintance with Schelble, the director of the Cacilien-Verein.
Felix on this occasion extemporised very successfully. They
further stopped at Weimar, to make the acquaintance of the
Goethe family, hy whom Felix had been so kindly received
during his visit with Zelter. Goethe was never tired of listen-
ing to Felix when he was at the piano, and with the father
talked almost exclusively about him. To Felix himself he said
one day when something had happened to annoy him : 41 am
Saul, and you are my David; when I am sad and dreary,
come to me and cheer me with your music.’ One evening he
requested him to play one of Bach’s fugues which young Frau
von Goethe had mentioned. Felix did not know it hy heart,
only the theme was known to him, and on this he improvised
a fugue. Goethe was enchanted, walked up to the mother,
pressed her hand warmly, and exclaimed : 4 A charming, delight-
ful boy! Send him again soon, that I may get all the pleasure
I can out of him.’ Felix himself was fully conscious of the value
of such praise, and, although the Weimar ladies took great pains
to spoil and flatter him, he had a mind only for Goethe’s love
and satisfaction.

Such events at the age of Fanny and Felix have a vast
influence on mental development. Fanny writes :—

4 The effects of the journey on Felix showed themselves im-
mediately after our return. He had grown much taller and
stronger, both features and expression had developed themselves
incredibly, and the difference in his way of wearing his hair
(the beautiful long curls had been cut off) contributed not a
little to change his appearance. His lovely child's face had
disappeared, and his figure already showed a manliness very
becoming to him. He was changed, hut no less handsome than
before.’

The journey was a subject of most intense interest for Aunt
Henrietta at Paris. She entered into the plan with all her
passionate nature, and in thought accompanied the travellers,

VOL. I.	1THE JOURNEY TO SWITZERLAND.

114

while her experience in teaching at the same time showed her
its importance for the development of the children. One of her
letters is too characteristic to be passed over :—

Dearest Leah, dearest brother, children, friends— I feel
inclined to extend my greetings even to your servants,—I am
so glad of your journey through the often but never sufficiently
praised land of promise, that I should like, with Schiller, to
‘ embrace millions.’ But in tbe universal embracing I would
reserve you, dearest sister, pour la bonne bouche, for I have
to thank you quite especially. They have sent me several
letters from Berlin, addressed to your mother, Aunt Levy, and
Marianne, and she promises to send me those I have not yet
read. I love your letters, not only because they are fit to be
printed and published as they are (that would be their least
merit), but because they form a real bond for the dispersed
members of the family. It is your influence that in a certain
way obliges these members (I mean the Mendelssohn part of
the family) not to forget each other completely, as they other-
wise would, notwithstanding all their loves and friendships.
Moreover, your letters are a true (not panorama but) diorama—a
much more perfect work of art—showing us everythmg in the
greatest possible exactness, and with all the changes of light
and shade as the varying daylight produces them. We have
a diorama at Paris just now, and one of the pictures represents
the Sarnenthal, with a lake, and glaciers in the distance. I
almost fancied, dear Leah, I saw you on the bank of the lake,
and the others on the surrounding mountains. For I am sure
that when the 6 wild huntsman with his followers ’ disdains any
repose, you prefer to remain in some quiet valley and let
your children tell you what they have seen up there on the
heights. And if I belonged to your party I should stay below
with you, for I praise the mountains only because they form
valleys; indeed that is all I know of them, for I never have
been at the top of one. How could we, my dear, in our cradles
by the big stove have dreamt of anything beyond balls, or at
the utmost a man, being formed of snow? And whatever
we may have read in later times about Switzerland, how it
dwindles into nothing when compared with the reality! HowAUNT HENRIETTA.

”5

wonderfully the mind is refreshed and elevated, and one’s
gratitude called out on that blessed soil, in that pure air,
and in the presence of such grand and lovely scenery I I do
not this moment remember in which part of Switzerland the
owner of a spot commanding a most beautiful view put up a
pillar bearing the inscription, ‘ 0 nation, praise the Lord.’
The idea seemed to me excellent.

I really love you the more, dear Leah, for having overcome
your dislike of travelling. At the same time it is impossible to
imagine anything more agreeable than your arrangements and
your company. Not like gipsies do you travel, but like princes
—poets, artists, and princes all in one ! What may you have
thought of the rich, well-ordered territory of Berne 1 what of
the dark-blue lake of Geneva with its beautiful surroundings !
As to the Mont Blanc, I hope, dear Leah, that you will content
yourself with admiring it through your glasses from a window
of the Secheron. I wish I may find that you agree with me in
preferring German Switzerland! I like the grand simplicity of
those parts much better. Of course you have seen the lake of
Thun, and Interlaken ?

I was very glad to read some accounts of Rebecca in your
letter to your mother. Fanny Sebastiani and I were just going
to reproach you for not mentioning the little girl.

Now for you, my Felix, you are quite a hero ! Your pilgrim-
age from Potsdam to Grosskreuz has touched my innermost soul.
I hope, however, that after having thus shown your independ-
ent spirit and vigorous nature you will always hold fast to
some coat-tail or other, and not give us any farther alarm.
Let me especially recommend to you a certain confectioner, who
lives at Berne, behind the parish church. It is not a shop, only
a room, on the ground floor. You will thank me for this recom-
mendation, for the man composes beautiful works in his way.
Fill your pockets with them and eat them on the ‘ Platform,’ as
they call it, at Berne, some bright morning, with the view of the
magnificent snow-mountains of the Oberland, and, like all who
love you, rejoice iti your existence. God bless you, my dear
brown Felix!

You, my dear Fanny, ought to have a letter of your own :n6

THE JOURNEY TO SWITZERLAND.

yours has well deserved it. But you are better employed than
reading my epistle. How thankful you must feel to your dear
mother for having made up her mind for this journey, and how
you must love your father for arranging it! Be very joyful and
happy, and if you cannot be actually merry think of Goethe’s
words, ‘ Life also needs dark leaves in its wreath.’ But I hope
you will enjoy everything very thoroughly, without too much
reflecting whether you have the full profit of it. With a mind
so well prepared as yours, the true result of a journey shows
itself afterwards like the effects of a mineral bath. God keep
and preserve you in health and spirits !

I should have liked to send you for this journey one of those
ridiculous dresses that they wear in Paris this summer. They
are very wide loose carters’ shirts, called blouses, and decorated,
like them, at the throat and on the shoulders with embroidery,
no shape whatever, and fastened round the waist by a leather
belt. But you describe yourself as so stout that I had not the
courage to send you one. Fanny Sebastiani does not wear one
for the same reason: children and sylphs alone look pretty in
them.

Now with all my chattering I have barely room left to greet
you, my dear thrice-happy patriarch! You are quite in your
element, migrating through the country, like Abraham the first,
at the head of your numerous family ! When I think of it, and
know that you have left no cares behind you and can watch
over them all with your own eyes, I am almost as glad as
you must be yourself. Now, God bless you and your dear
caravan!LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

After their return each took up his accustomed occupations,
and earnest work was continued. Felix’s musical talent developed
rapidly during the next few years, and with it that of his sister
Fanny. The intimate friendship between brother and sister,
never alloyed by any jealous or envious feeling, remained to the
end of their days—6 They are really vain and proud of one
another,’ their mother has been heard to say. Fanny writes in
1822 : ‘ Up to the present moment I possess his unbounded
confidence. I have watched the progress of his talent step by
step, and may say I have contributed to his development. I
have always been his only musical adviser, and he never writes
down a thought before submitting it to my judgment. For
instance, I have known his operas by heart before a note was
written.’ Felix’s time through all his life was spent in untiring
activity ; for besides his scientific work, he devoted much time
and application to drawing. Although of course he was not
equally gifted for drawing as for music, he attained as an amateur
a high degree of perfection, and especially in the latter years of
his life. From his last journey to Switzerland in 1847 he
brought home some water-colour sketches, of which no artist
need haye been ashamed. But his musical activity even in
those early years of boyhood is extraordinary, as we see in a
small unpublished biography of Felix by Fanny, which contains
a catalogue of his compositions in every year. Thus for 1822,
the year of the great journey, when one might fancy not much
time for working remained, the list is the following: 1, the
66th Psalm for three female voices; 2, concerto in A minor for
the piano; 3, two songs for male voices; 4, three songs; 5,
three fugues for the piano; 6, quartet for piano, violin, alto,11 s

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

and two bass (C minor composed at Geneva, final printed work);
7, symphonies for two violins, alto and bass; 8, one act of the
opera ‘The Two Nephews’; 9, Jube Domine (C major), for
Schelble’s Cacilien-Verein at Frankfort; 10, a violin concerto
(forRietz); 11, Magnihcat, with instruments; 12, Gloria, with
instruments. Felix appeared in public for the first time in a
concert of Gugel’s on October 24, 1818, and for the second time
in a concert given by Aloys Schmitt on March 31, 1822. In the
same year, on December 5, he played in Berlin at a concert of
Mme. Milder’s. About this time also the Sunday matinees began
which in later years at Fanny Hensel’s acquired such importance
and extent. For the present, and whilst the parents (then on
the new Promenade) could but command a limited space for
the purpose, only a small circle of friends came together. Here
Felix’s compositions were performed, the children got accus-
tomed to play before an audience, and had an opportunity of
hearing other people’s judgment. Even then all musicians of
distinction passing through Berlin requested to be admitted at
these musical entertainments ; for instance, in 1823, Kalkbrenner,
about whom Fanny writes: ‘ He heard a good many of Felix’s
compositions, praised with taste, and blamed candidly and
amiably. We hear him often, and try to learn from him. His
playing unites a variety of good qualities : precision, clearness,
expression, the greatest facility, and most untiring power and
energy. He is a clever musician, with most extensive knowledge.
In addition to his talent, he is an accomplished, amiable gentle-
man, and to blame or praise more agreeably than he does is not
possible.’

In the same year Abraham, with his sons Felix and Paul,
made a journey to Silesia. At Breslau Felix writes:—

’H/ioy S’ r)pi<yevsia <f)dvr) poBoBdtcTvkos rjcos, we all went to
the church to hear Berner play. First he took off his coat
and put on a light one instead, then he asked me to write down
a theme for him, and then he began. He took the low C in the
pedal, and then threw himself with all his might upon the
manual, and after some runs began a theme on the manual. I
had no idea that it could be played on the pedals, for it was
as follows:—FELIX ON ORGAN-PLAYING.

119

but lie soon began with bis feet, and carried it out with both
manual and pedals. After he had thoroughly developed it, he
began my theme on the pedals, carried it out for a short time,
then took it on the pedals in augmentation, put a fine counter
subject with it, and then worked up both themes splendidly.
He has wonderful execution on the pedals. When he had done
he drank some glasses of wine which he had brought with him,
and sat down again on the organ-seat. He then played varia-
tions in Vogel’s manner, which did not please me so well as
his former playing, although they also were very beautiful.

The church gradually filled, and the people were much
surprised to hear Berner, for he had made all Breslau believe
that he had gone to some watering-place; but there he was
playing the organ at St. Elisabeth’s, and they could not
make it out at all. After another little drop, he brought out
some variations of his own on the chorale ‘Vom Himmel-
hoch,’ which are very beautiful. The last variation is a fugue
the theme of which is the chorale in diminution. He played
it on the middle manual. At length it appeared as if he were
about to close; he brought in the theme alia stretta, struck the
chord of the dominant, and then suddenly began the simple
chorale with the whole power of the organ on the lower manual,
which was coupled, then modulated splendidly on the melody,
and so ended. It had a heavenly effect as the chorale came out
with all its might. The sounds streamed out of the organ from
all sides. That tired him very much, so that he had to take
two or three glasses of wine. But soon he sat down again
and played variations on 4 God save the King,’ in which he
treated the theme first in the Phrygian and then in the iEolian
mode, and towards the end gave it on the full organ, which
had just, as fine an effect as before. Thus the organ-concert
ended, and Berner was very tired. The people left the church,
and he made an end of the bottle of wine. Then he showed
me the inside of the organ itself. Shot and shell have struck
many pipes, so that they are useless.120

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

We talked for some time, father, he, and I. Berner told
us of some funny practical jokes of his, and then we went to
dine, taking him with us. While he is playing a choir boy
stands by him and draws out and pushes in such stops as he
touches lightly with his finger in the midst of his playing.

Now enough of Phrygian, iEolian, dominant, stops, pipes,
manuals, pedals, valves, 32 feet, mixture, concerts, wine-bottles,
glasses, fugues, and augmentation.

At Beinerz Felix was asked to play at a charity-concert.
The rehearsal began three hours before the concert, and a
concerto by Mozart was to be played by Felix. After going
over the first solo for about an hour, he saw the impossibility
of going on in this way. The double-bass which supplied the
violoncello was not in time, most instruments were entirely
missing, and the rest were played by worthy amateurs of the
town, who could neither keep tune nor time—it was a dreadful
confusion. Felix therefore proposed to extemporise, made the
schoolmaster mention the reason of the change of programme,
selected some themes from Mozart and Weber, and played with
great success. Directly after the concert he left the town, and
in getting into the carriage received a nosegay from a pretty
girl. ‘ A princess,’ Leah writes to Hensel in Borne, £ whose
husband is fanatico jper la musica, invited them to spend a few
days at her estate, or, if that was impossible, to lend her some
of Felix’s compositions, which she would copy with her own
princely hands. You are too well acquainted with the illiberality
of my liberal not to guess that court service does not suit his
free spirit.’

On February 3, 1824, Felix’s fifteenth birthday, the first
orchestral rehearsal of his opera ‘ The Two Nephews ’ took place.
The text was written by Caspar, a well-known physician.
Zelter made use of the opportunity to arrange a little ceremony
in his way. When at supper one of the amateur performers
proposed Felix’s health, Zelter took his hand and placed him
in front of the company, with the words: ‘ My dear boy, from
this day you are no longer an apprentice, but an independent
member of the brotherhood of musicians. I proclaim you inde-THE HOUSE BOUGHT.

121

pendent in the name of Mozart, Haydn, and old father Bach.’
He then embraced the boy, and kissed him heartily. This pro-
clamation of independence was now merrily toasted, and solem-
nised by songs of Zelter’s and by Tafellieder. The opera was
successfully acted at the house of the parents, but was only looked
upon in the light of an attempt and put by. Felix soon began
a second, on a much larger scale, called ‘The Wedding of
Camacho,’ on the well-known episode from Don Quixote. We
shall have to speak of it afterwards.

In the year 1825 an event happened which had a great
influence on thy development of the children and on the life of
the family for generations, and which we have therefore chosen
as the heading of this chapter: Abraham purchased the beautiful
property at the Leipziger Strasse No. 3. In this delightful
house and garden he and his wife passed the rest of their days;
there Fanny married, and also lived till her death. To the
members of the family this house was not a piece of property
of a certain value, or mere dead bricks and mortar, but a living
individuality, one of themselves, sympathising with and sharing
their happiness, and considered by them and their nearest friends
somehow as the representative of the family. In this sense
Felix often uses the expression ‘ Leipziger Strasse 3,’ and in this
sense they all loved it and mourned for its loss when, after the
deaths of Fanny and Felix, it was sold, and became the Upper
Chamber of the Prussian Parliament.

The street front of the house has remained unchanged. The
rooms were stately, large, and lofty, built with that delightful
spaciousness which architects have almost entirely given up
since the price of ground has become so high, and for which
kind of comfort either the taste or the means have almost
entirely disappeared. One room especially, overlooking the
court, and opening by means of three arches into an adjoining
apartment, was beautiful, and most suitable for theatrical repre-
sentations. For many, many years, at Christmas, and on birth-
days and other festive occasions, this was the scene of delightful
performances, overflowing with wit and humour. Generally it
was Leah’s sitting-room. The windows opened upon a very
spacious court, surrounded by low side-buildings, and closed by122

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

a one-storied garden-house, over which looked the tops of ancient
trees. In this garden-house Fanny and Hensel lived after their
marriage. It has since been pulled down, to make room for the
session-chamber of the Prussian House of Lords. In winter it
had great drawbacks: the apartments were cold and damp,
each room was a thoroughfare, and, as the house was only one
room deep, there was no accumulation of warmth. Double
windows were at that time hardly known at Berlin, and the
garden-house was not provided with them. Quantities of water
flowed down daily from the frozen panes, and necessitated a
constant wiping up. The temperature of the rooms in winter
seldom got beyond 61° Fahrenheit.

But in summer the house was perfectly delightful. The
windows were embowered in vines, and all opened on to the
garden, with its blooming lilacs and avenues of stately old trees!
And for all times of the year it had certain special advantages,
especially complete quiet and silence. The large court and high
front building kept off every sound; in tbe garden-house, no
more than 100 yards away from the noisy street, you lived as
in the deepest loneliness of a forest—vis-a-vis, the magnificent
trees of the garden, with merrily twittering birds, no lodger
above or below, after the noise of streets the quietest and almost
rural seclusion, and at your windows green leaves. The centre
part of the house, and its most invaluable and beautiful portion,
consisted in a very spacious hall, too large to be called a drawing-
room. There was space in it for several hundred people, and it
had on the garden side a movable glass wall, interrupted by
pillars, so that the hall could be changed into an open portico.
The walls and ceiling (a flat cupola) were covered with fantastic
fresco-paintings. This was the real scene of the Sunday matinees.
The hall commanded a view of the garden—or rather the park—
(about seven acres), which touched the gardens of Prince Albrecht;
in Frederick the Great’s time it had been a part of the Thier-
garten, and was therefore rich in most beautiful old trees. Leah
wrote to Hensel (then at Rome) about the intended purchase of
the property, February 1, 1825 : ‘You will be much surprised
to hear that my husband has serious intentions of settling here
definitely in a house of his own. The property, which might beTHE HOUSE AND THE GARDEN.

123

turned into something very beautiful, tempts him much. The
house indeed is at present in that state of decay and neglect that
will always arise from there being many owners (it belonging to
the V. d. Reck family) and no common interests. A great deal
must be spent on making it habitable. But the garden is quite
a park, with splendid trees, a field, grass-plots, and a delightful
summer residence, and this alone tempts both my husband and
myself.’ The friends of the family at first did not like the
change at all, and complained that the Mendelssohns were moving
out of the world, into regions where grass grew on the pavement;
for the Potsdam gate was then the Ultima Thule, at which
Berlin geography terminated.

In this house and garden arose a singularly beautiful, poetic
life. The circle of friends then formed, with few exceptions,
remained in personal intercourse, or correspondence, until death,
one by one, called them off. The Hanoverian Klingemann, a
diplomatist, a very refined, poetic nature, author of the text of
‘ Son and Stranger ’ (to be mentioned afterwards), was one of
the most prominent and most faithful of the circle. The ties
of friendship which united him to the family were strength-
ened by Felix’s and Hensel’s frequent visits to London, where
Klingemann was attached to the Hanoverian legation, and by
a constant animated correspondence. Louis Heydemann and his
brother, Wilhelm Horn, son of a famous physician, and himself
one likewise, Edward Rietz the violinist, and for a long time
especially Marx, then editor of the Berlin Musikalische Zeitung,
were Felix’s more intimate friends. Marx, a man of great
genius, was the champion of a new school in music, which rallied
round the flag of Beethoven, and contributed not a little to make
the works of that great master known. He was truly fond of
Felix, and the two endeavoured in their enthusiasm to approach
each other by exchanging opinions, which at first differed
widely.

Moscheles visited Berlin in the autumn of 1824, and Felix
readily acknowledged his extraordinary execution, and the grace,
elegance, and coquetry of his playing, and in those respects
profited by Moscheles, who, indeed, never allowed these technical
qualities to be too prominent. Moscheles, on the other hand,124

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

fully appreciated Felix’s talent, and a lasting friendship began
between the two. Spohrs presence at Berlin had likewise a
great influence on Felix. He had come to Berlin personally to
superintend the representation of 6 Jessonda,’ and the public re-
ceived him and his opera with even greater applause for the
obstacles thrown in his way by Spontini. Spohr was a frequent
visitor at the Mendelssohns’, improving upon the acquaintance
made at Casselin 1822.

A journey to Paris in March 1825 with his father, under-
taken for the purpose of fetching Henrietta back to Germany,
brought Felix into contact with a great number of eminent
musicians, at that time there assembled : Hummel, Moscheles,
Kalkbrenner, Pixis, Rode, Baillot, Kreutzer, Cherubini, Rossini,
Paer, Meyerbeer, Plantade, Lafont, and many others, who often
met in the same salon and the same opera-box. But the mean-
ness, jealousy, and enviousness of many of these men made a
repulsive impression on Felix, whose whole nature was so per-
fectly different, and who never, even in later times, liked Paris,
or Parisian music.

He disliked both the good and bad parts of the musical
system then cultivated there. The brilliancy and piquancy by
which some musicians tried to gain popularity had no charms
for him ; their intrigues, their ignorance of the great German
masters, their careless, negligent way of working, offended him,
and the very civility which the musicians showed to him per-
sonally could not make him forget those faults. With Cheru-
bini alone he appears to have sympathised.

In a letter on April 6 he expressed himself on Parisian
persons and affairs with a violence and acerbity not generally
a part of his character. The answers of his mother and sisters
of course did not fail to contradict him in many points. The
following extracts from his letters may give an idea of his
opinions:—

Felix to the Family.

Paris : March 23, 1825.

How shall I manage to write a regular and sensible letter
on the first morning I spend in Paris ? I am far too muchFELIX AT PARIS, 1825.

125

astonished, curious, and confused. But as I have promised to
send a diary to Berlin, I will begin forthwith by telling you
that we entered Paris yesterday, March 22, at eight o’clock in
the evening. After having passed the £ barrier de Pantin ’ our
horses took us at full speed for more than a quarter of an
hour through a new part of the town, which father had not seen
before, the Faubourg St. Lazare. In some places it still looks
rather desolate and disordered, but most houses are finished.
We then came into the old town, and at last to the Boulevard.
The flow of life and industry, the noise, rattling, shouting, and
merry-making in the streets, are something wonderful. The
shops are all completely lighted with gas, and so are the streets,
where you might easily read. The noise and light are about
the same as in Berlin at an illumination.

Leo and Meyer called on us early this morning, and seemed
astonished not to find me jump on their knees, upset a few
chairs, and indulge in screams, etc. We went to see aunt
Jette, and met her in the street coming to us. Her gentle,
earnest, lively, and kind manner impressed me at once. And
how cleverly she talks ! I am glad we shall bring her home to
you!

April 1, 1825.

On Monday morning I called on Hummel, and found
Onslow and Boucher with him ; he did not at first recognise
me, but when he heard my name he behaved like mad, embraced
me a hundred times, ran about the room, roared and cried, made
an exaggerated, foolish speech about me to Onslow, and then ran
away with me to see father. But when we found father had
gone out, he made such a noise in the hotel that all the people
came to see what was the matter. He then took his leave, ran
back after me upstairs, embraced me, etc. Yesterday morning
he came rumbling in with four porters and brought up his
wife’s grand piano, taking home our bad instrument instead.

Paris: April 20.

To appease your wrath, I will tell you that we were last
night in the Feydeau theatre, where we saw the last act of an
opera by Catel, c L’Aubergiste,’ and ‘ Leocadie,’ by Auber. The126

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

theatre is spacious, cheerful, and pretty; the orchestra very good.
Although the violins are not of the same excellence as in the
opera-boufFe, the basses, wind instruments, and the ensemble
are better. The conductor stands in the middle. The singers
sing without much voice, but not badly ; their acting is quick
and animated, and everything goes well together. But now
about the principal thing, the composition ! I will not speak of
the first opera, for I only heard half of it, and that was very weak
and tedious, although not without some light, pretty melody.
But famous Auber’s famous ‘ Leocadie ’ I You cannot imagine
anything more miserable. The subject, taken from a bad novel
of Cervantes, is made into a clumsy opera-libretto, and I should
not have believed that such an improper, vulgar piece could
have any chance of success with a French public, who have so
much fine feeling and tact. To this novel, which dates from
the rude, wild period of Cervantes, Auber has made miserably
tame music—not to say that there is no fire, no substance, no
life, no originality to be found in the opera ; that it is connected
by reminiscences of Cherubini and Rossini alternately; that it
shows no earnestness, not a spark of passionthat at the most
critical moments the singers have to perform shakes, quavers,
passages. But a gray-haired man, a pupil of Cherubini’s and the
darling of the public, ought at least to be able to orchestrate,
in our times especially, when the publication of the scores of
Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven has made that task so easy. Far
from it. Fancy that among the numerous music-pieces of
the opera there are perhaps three in which the piccolo does
not play the principal part! The overture begins with a tre-
mulando on the stringed instruments, and then the piccolo
instantly begins on the roof and the bassoon in the cellar, and
blow away at a melody ; in the theme of the allegro the stringed
instruments play the Spanish accompaniment, and the flute
again drawls out a melody. Leocadie’s first melancholy air,
‘ Pauvre Leocadie, il vaudrait mieux mourir,’ is again appro-
priately accompanied by the piccolo. This little instrument
serves to illustrate the fury of the brother, the pain of the lover,
the joy of the peasant girl; in short, the whole opera might be
transcribed for two flutes and a Jew’s harp ad libitum. Alas !FELIX AT PARIS, 1825.

127

You say I should try and convert the people here, and
teach Onslow and Reicha to love Beethoven and Sebastian Bach.
That is just what I am endeavouring to do. But remember,
my dear child, that these people do not know a single note of
‘Fidelio,’ and believe Bach to be a mere old-fashioned wig
stuffed with learning. I played the overture to ‘ Fidelio ’ to
Onslow on a bad piano, and he was quit * distracted, scratched
his head, added the instruments as he imagined them, shouted
the air, in short was quite mad with delight. The other day,
at the request of Kalkbrenner, I played the organ preludes in
E minor and B minor. My audience pronounced them both
‘ wonderfully pretty,’ and one of them remarked that the begin-
ning of the .prelude in A minor was very much like a favourite
duet in an opera by Monsigny. Anybody might have knocked
me down with a feather.

Rode persists in his refusal to touch a violin. But the other
day I played my quartet in B minor at Mme. Kiene’s, with
Baillot, Mial, and Norblin. Baillot was rather confused at the
beginning, and played even carelessly, but at one passage in
the first part of the first movement he caught fire, and played
the rest of the movement and the whole adagio very well and
with much vigour. Then came the scherzo ; and he must have
liked the beginning, for now he began to play and hurry in
earnest, the others after him, and I trying in vain to stop
them. But who can stop three runaway Frenchmen ? And so
they took me with them, madder and madder, and faster and
louder. Baillot especially, at a place near the end, where the
theme of the trio is taken up against the time, played fear-
fully loud ; and as it had happened to him to make a mistake
several times before, he got into a perfect rage with himself.
When he had finished, he said nothing but, 4 Encore une fois
ce morceau.’ Now everything went on smoothly, but wilder
even than before. In the place quite near the end, where the
theme in B minor comes in once more fortissimo, Baillot pro-
duced a hurricane in Ihe strings that put me in fright of my
own quartet. And as soon as it was finished, he came up to
me, again without saying a word, and embraced me twice as
if he wanted to crush me. Rode was also very much pleased,128

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

and a long while afterwards said again, ‘ Bravo, mein schatz ! ’
(Bravo, my precious !) in German.

The Berlin people, however, were not satisfied, and did not
cease in their letters to stand up for (in their opinion) poor,
ill-treated Paris. Felix was not to be persuaded. On the 9th
of May he writes to his sister Fanny:—

‘ Your last letter made me somewhat furious, and I resolved
to scold you a hit; nor will I let you off, although time, that
kind divinity, may have softened my temper and poured some
balm into the wounds inflicted on you by my fiery wrath. You
talk of prejudice and prepossession, about being morose and
grumbling, and about the £ land flowing with milk and honey,’
as you call this city. Do consider a little. Are you in Paris,
or am I ? Now I really ought to know better than you ! It
is my way, to let my judgment of music be influenced by pre-
judice! But suppose it were, is Rode prejudiced when he says
to me, “ C’est ici une degringolade musicale ” ? Is Neukomm
prejudiced who says, “ Ce n’est pas ici le pays des orchestres ” ?
Is Herz prejudiced when he says, “ Here the public can only
understand and enjoy variations”? And are 10,000 others
prejudiced who abuse Paris ? It is you, you alone who are so
prepossessed, that you believe more in the reality of the lovely
image of Paris as an Eldorado, conceived in your own mind,
than that of my impartial accounts. Read but the Constitu-
tionnel: what else is performed in the Italian Opera but
Rossini ? Read the music catalogue : what else is published,
what else is sold, hut romances and potpourris? Come and
hear “ Alceste,” come and hear “ Robin des Bois,” 1 hear the
soirees (which, by-the-by, you have confounded with salons;
soirees being concerts for money, and salons parties), hear the
music in the Chapel Royal, and then form your opinion and scold
me, hut not now, when you are prepossessed and completely
blinded by prejudice !!! ’

In May they returned home with Henrietta, on their way
paying a visit to Goethe, as they had also done in going to
Paris.

1 French version of the Freischiitz.A LECTURE TO THE SISTERS.

129

We must not omit mentioning the literary events of those
times, watched and received as they were with enthusiasm by
the young people. It need not he said that the grandchildren
of Moses Mendelssohn were well acquainted with Lessing’s
writings, nor that to the friend and guest of Groethe ‘ Werther ’
and ‘ Faust ’ were ‘ brilliant meteors,’ as Fanny expresses her-
self. Fanny’s and Felix’s letters from Switzerland prove that
Schiller’s masterpieces were ever present to their minds. But
two authors especially exercised a great influence on the Men-
delssohn children and their circle of friends—Jean Paul and
Shakespeare. Borne has said the most beautiful and Heine the
most witty things about Jean Paul in his ‘Romantic School.’
Rebecca once wrote about him: ‘You want me to read Hes-
perus when I am very sad. Indeed I shall not follow your
advice. Jean Paul does not help the weary and heavy-laden to
bear their cross ; he only tells them what they like to hear, and
makes their burden heavier by weakening their strength. But
my telling you this avails nothing : you are just in that age, or
rather youth, when there is no writer but Jean Paul, when his
style, his irony, are imitated, when youths and maidens wish
not to grow stout, in order to be more like Victor, Clotilde, and
Liane, and if possible to die a little early, but only for a short
time ! If I wanted to get rid of sadness by reading, I should
choose Lessing, or Mendelssohn, or history, and find consola-
tion in the example of men who have struggled against an
adverse fate and overcome it, and have gained not an ironical
but a virtuous serenity of mind, resignation and strength to
continue the fight. But there is that slight difference be-
tween us that I am as near forty as you are near twenty. And
if I did not know the charms of Jean Paul in youth, I would
surprise you in your rural solitude, and condemn the whole
Hesperus to an auto dafe.

‘ Your remark about the likeness between Jean Paul’s
Clotilde and X. reminds me of a little story I would tell you if
I did not know you would be offended. But I wTill tell you after
all. A deaf and dumb pupil of Professor Wach’sonce painted
a Madonna who was the living image of Wach. He accounted
for it by explaining that Wach was his ideal, and so was the

VOL. I.	K130

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

Madonna, consequently the Madonna had to he like Wach. The
moral I need not add, but pray do not be angry. When your
mother and I were young, Victor in Hesperus resembled Dr.
J., now Counsellor of State and Conservative leader.’

The Mendelssohn children had no need to read Jean Paul for
consolation, and yet there is a period in youth when everybody,
even the happiest, longs for a feeling of suffering, and ‘ to die
a little early, but only for a short time.’ Anyhow, and what-
ever peculiarity of the poet each may have preferred, the fact
is that they all admired him enthusiastically and lastingly.
In Felix’s letters, even the later ones, this predilection is often
expressed.

Next to Jean Paul they loved Shakespeare. With the
Schlegel-Tieck translation Shakespeare’s plays were for the first
time made accessible to Germany in an adequate form. The
young people had not then sufficient knowledge of English to
be able to read Shakespeare in the original. The impression
produced was deep indeed ; the tragedies, but even more the
comedies, and especially the ‘ Midsummer-night’s Dream,’ were
the joy of the Mendelssohn children. By a singular coincidence,
in that very year 1826, in their lovely garden, favoured by the
most beautiful weather, they themselves led a fantastic, dream-
like life. In the garden-house lived an old lady with beautiful
and amiable nieces and granddaughters. Fanny and Rebecca
were intimately acquainted with these girls, Felix and his friends
joined them, and the summer months were like one uninter-
rupted festival day, full of poetry, music, merry games, ingenious
practical jokes, disguises, and representations. Writing mate-
rials and paper were laid out in one of the summer-houses, on
which everybody wrote down any droll or pretty thing that
occurred to him. This formed a Garden-Times, which was
continued in winter under the name of Tea-and-Snow-Times,
and contained many charming things, both serious and playful.
Even the older people, Abraham, Zelter, Humboldt, were not
above contributing to, or at least joining and enjoying, sports
of such a peculiar and tasteful kind. The whole life had un-
doubtedly a higher and loftier tendency, a more idyllic colour-
ing, more poetry, than is often met with. Nature and art, wit,FELIX'S OCTET.

131

heart, and mind, the high flow of Felix’s genius, all this con-
tributed to give a colouring to their doings, and on the other
hand this wonderful life gave a new impulse to his creative
spirit. A vast and rapid change took place within him, and
several remarkable works followed in quick succession, widely
different from the compositions of his childhood. First came
the Ottetto, destined as a birthday present for Rietz. The
ethereal, fanciful, and spirit-like scherzo in this is something
quite new. He tried to set to music the stanza from the
Walpurgis-night Dream in ‘Faust’:—

The flight of the clouds and the veil of mist
Are lighted from above.

A breeze in the leaves, a wind in the reeds,

And all has vanished.

‘ And he has been really successful,’ says Fanny of this Ottetto,
in her biography of Felix. ‘ To me alone he told his idea : the
whole piece is to be played staccato and pianissimo, the tremul-
andos coming in now and then, the trills passing away with the
quickness of lightning; everything new and strange, and at
the same time most insinuating and pleasing, one feels so near
the world of spirits, carried away in the air, half inclined to
snatch up a broomstick and follow the aerial procession. At the
end the first violin takes a flight with a feather-like lightness,
and—all has vanished.’

But the scherzo of the ottetto was only the precursor of a
larger work of similar description. The most brilliant result
of that strangely poetic frame of mind is the overture to the
‘ Midsummer-night’s Dream.’ We may consider it as a piece
of Mendelssohn’s own life, for it is as much the result as the
events of the year 1826 in the Mendelssohn house as of the
influence of Shakespeare; and if we are not very much mistaken,
this origin is just what lends such a singular charm to the
overture. The circumstance that it was a product of Mendels-
sohn’s inmost nature may explain the fact, perhaps the only
one of the kind on record in music, that twenty years afterwards
the composer, taking up this work of his youth, could write the
music to the Midsummer-night’s Dream without changing a132

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

note of tlie overture: it was truly Shakespearian, and truly
Mendelssohnian, and therefore the music could only continue
in the same spirit.

This was perhaps the happiest time in the life of Abraham
Mendelssohn. His worldly affairs were prosperous, and had a
firm basis in the possession of one of the finest properties in
Berlin: a beloved, clever, and charming wife, the faithful
partner of his joys and sorrows through long years; all his
children growing up with beautiful promises; Felix past the
period of hesitation, and on a safe way to the highest station
a man can reach, well-deserved fame in art; Fanny his equal
in gifts and talent, yet desiring nothing but modestly to
remain within the bounds nature' has set to woman ; Rebecca
growing up a beautiful, clever girl, eminently gifted, and
eclipsed only by the uncommon talent of her elder brother and
sister; Paul good and industrious, and also very musical, all of
them healthy in body and mind, and united by a rare affection ;
a circle of friends embracing the most remarkable clever men
of various stations in life, and the most promising youths of
Berlin ; a house frequented, known, and loved by so many in
the whole world of culture—such was the position of Abraham
Mendelssohn in the year 1826.

In February 1827 Felix undertook a journey to Stettin,
for a performance of his Midsummer-night’s Dream overture,
and was extremely well received. On the way back the dili-
gence was upset, and he showed his presence of mind ; for
whilst nobody knew what to do, he rode back on one of the
carriage horses as far as a German mile through a bitter cold
night, and fetched assistance. At Berlin very onerous work
awaited him: he had to superintend the mounting of his opera
‘ The Wedding of Camacho,’ and for the first time experienced
the sufferings of a composer for the stage. The narrow-minded-
ness of the manager, the intrigues behind the curtain, the
business, often annoying, with the actors and rehearsals, all this,
even if at first amusing, soon became very tedious. The opera
was performed on the 29th of April. It is difficult to state how
it was received, as there was no second representation. Upon
the whole, it enjoyed probably but a sucds d'estime. Felix, itA PLEASANT EXCURSION

133

is true, was called for, and his family and friends looked upon
the representation as a success. But his own good sense was
not deceived : he was quite disheartened, and came home late and
much disturbed. Illnesses and other obstacles, real or pretended,
prevented a repetition several times appointed to take place, and
the whole affair had for the moment a very bad influence on his
mind and even on his health. Moreover, he was deeply affected
by the death of a friend of his own age, August Hanstein.
But with a nature so thoroughly healthy, lively, and strong as
his, periods of relaxation and depression could not last long.
At Whitsuntide he spent a few happy days at Sakrow, an estate
near Potsdam belonging to the Magnus family, and there conx-
posed the words and music of a song which afterwards became
the theme of the A minor quartet. In the summer he made a
beautiful holiday excursion with some friends to the Harz Moun-
tains, Franconia, Bavaria, Baden, and the Rhine, where he
enjoyed the vintage with his uncle, Joseph Mendelssohn, at
Horchheim, near Coblenz. The letters he wrote home are full
of healthy life and spirits, as the following extracts may
show:—

4 We began to ascend the Brocken at half past two o’clock
through the Ilsenthal, accompanied by a gray-haired old guide
from Wernigerode. The sun shone brightly and the day was
warm. We passed the Ilsenstein with much pleasure. Heyde-
mann stood on a stone in the middle of the brook, with his hand
in the water, and then took out a pebble and showed how that
made the water take a different course: all this nonsense we
expressed in Ritter phraseology. Magnus1 walked foremost,
whistling and saying he liked this. Rietz muttered,4 This is
glorious 1 ’ and as the old guide was rather heavily laden with our
four cloaks, we felt of course too kindly disposed by the pleasure
we enjoyed not to take the burden from him, and carry it in
the sweat of our own brows. That was our first mistake; for
the old boy took a flask of brandy out of his pocket and drank
our health—an unfortunate proceeding, which it is probable
he repeated pretty often. After two hours’ good climbing, and

The well-known physician Gustav Magnus.134

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

when the sky was beginning to he covered with clouds, he sud-
denly made a stop, and said, laughing, “ Do you know the news r
We have completely lost our way, and must go back a quarter
of an hour, and then I shall bring you on the right way.” I
smelt a rat at once, and used strong language. ‘ Errare huma-
num ’ was Heydemann’s remark. We went back, the guide
began to talk nonsense, and tumbled about: he did not know
the way at all, and was quite useless, and he wanted to persuade
us that it was very nice in the forest, and so on. We then
followed our own instinct, and after a short time saw a house.
We all greeted it with a cheer, ran up to it, and knocked. No
answer, the door locked, the windows closed, not a soul in the
place. We consult our guide : he does not know the house, has
never seen it, but believes we ought to turn to the right.
Evening was coming on, and our spirits began to sink. We
looked at our map of the Harz. “Here we are,” says one.
“ No, here ; ” “ No, here ! ” In short, we did not agree, and
again followed the guide, who led us down a tiresome steep
path, maintaining all the while we must soon be on the Brocken.
At last he confessed that he did not know the way and had never
been there before. We mounted on a block of granite and
looked about us with the telescope—it began to rainl As we
could see nothing, we followed our path, which began to get
wet. and slippery, and soft. It got dark, the rain fell in tor-
rents, and no human being was to be discovered. A little boy
with axes and a sawing-block comes up from the valley. We
surround him, and ask where we are. “Half an hour from
Ilsenburg Ml” is his answer. We inquire after the abandoned
house. “ A deserted hunting-box, only an hour and a half from
the summit of the Brocken.” Our anger now knew no bounds;
we made a rush at the guide with our sticks; but as he only
took off his hat, smiled, and said, “ Hit me if you choose, what
do I care ? ” we contented ourselves with taking back our things
and sending him away. He instantly disappeared. Kohler is
his name, deuce take him 1 Through pouring rain, after four
hours’ walking we got back to Ilsenburg.’LOSING THE WAY.

135

Erbich (a poor little place) : August 31, 1827.

A lovely moon-night.

If three of the most remarkable families of Berlin knew that
three of their most remarkable sons are roving on the roads at
night with carriers, peasants, and tramps, and exchanging bio-
graphies with them, they would be dreadfully distracted. But
don’t I for your sons are very jolly.

Erbich I Even father, who has travelled so much, does
not know the place, nor is it marked on any map, and so Paul
does not know it; nor was it built at the time of the Greeks,
and therefore Rebecca does not know it; nor is it either in
Leipziger Strasse No. 3 or in Italy, and therefore mother and
Fanny do not know it. It is a miserable village with an inn,
which we three from pure malice call heavenly. We had on
our travelling maps mistaken four (German) miles for two, and
after walking in the moonlight an hour and a half, at last we
came to a village called Biidenbach, which possessed an inn
much praised by the guides. The landlord could not give us a
room, and we were to pass the night on the benches with three
carriers in blue coats, whom we found eating mutton and
smoking their pipes. To make up for this privilege the landlord
could promise us no guide to Rudolstadt for to-morrow, and
nothing to eat for to-night. At this Magnus got furious and
decamped. We walked out of the village and along a brook
edged with willows, across a stubble field here and there inter-
rupted by marshy ground, to Erbich. Three cheers for Erbich!
Here we have a room, where we can sleep solus on the benches,
and to-morrow morning we are off on a cart, the driver of which
has promised us quite a marvellous trot into Franconia. Here
too they refused at first to take us in, there being no fire in the
room; but finally we were conducted up a narrow staircase to
our room, all the four walls of which are garnished with benches.
In a corner stands mine host’s bed, in which none of us will
sleep, perhaps from generosity; in another corner are three
gigantic piles of dough for bread and cake. The landlady made
us swear by our beards not to touch them. (We have not shaved
since Berlin, and Magnus is wonderful.) The rest of the furni-136

LEIPZ1GER STRASSE No. 3.

ture consists of several paintings (worth about threepence), and
a hook for a chandelier. At the door hangs a hog’s bladder.
Summa summarum, a perfect drawing-room.

In all the towns, hamlets, and villages we go through with
our pilgrim-staffs we cause great excitement; the girls come
to the windows, and the street-boys follow us laughing for three
streets at least—a proof of popularity and clean linen !

' We get on together quite as well as we enjoy ourselves, and
this is saying a great deal. Our talk is alternately of musicians,
fevers, and Homer, so each has his own topic, and in a student-
song and refrain we all join in one. The country is most
lovely; to-day we walked through the Thiiringen forest, near
Sondershausen, which has splendid beeches and massive oaks,
here and there overshadowing a well from which Heydemann
fills his flask. Then we pass a while looking, and drawing, and
comparing. So our grave and merry occasions are both equally
sweet, and by means of such variety we shall not get tired of or
exhaust either.

It is late. Our only tallow candle is burnt down, and the
moon does not give sufficient light. To-morrow morning we
start at five o’clock. Good night! good night!

Baden : September 14, 1827.

I live here somewhat after the fashion of the late Tantalus:
a mass of ideas are in my head which I long to play to myself;
besides, there is in the conversation-house a very decent grand
piano. I slide into the music-room, but it is occupied by a
Frenchman and his wife, a fair girl, who, alas for me, is musical.
Hoping that these people will take leave after having satisfied
their desire, I beg the lady to play to me. I said I was a great
lover of music, and had overheard her already playing beautifully,
which she fully believed, and hammered away at three rondos
and a dozen variations. Again and again I called out, 4 Brava,
comme un ange! ’ (fortunately she was pretty and graceful),
but at last it got too much, and I tried to go. Impossible!
they made me play and play. Then Amedee Perier and a few
more Frenchmen came in, and I had to treat them to all and
everything I could best remember. It made me think of Paris.MUSIC AT BADEN-BADEN.

137

When I had left the French set, and went into the garden, I
met Haizinger and his wife (Mme. Neumann), and we renewed
our acquaintance. As they were going to leave Baden very
soon, they begged me to make a little music with them; we
were joined by the Roberts, and went all back to the conversa-
tion-room together. It was not lighted up, for the season is
already over; but never mind, I opened the piano, and after the
first few notes there were thirty or forty people there in the
room, French, English, Strasburgers, cosmopolitans (Constant
and his wife), applauding very liberally in the darkness. I had
to play twice, and Mme. Haizinger sang two airs, and so we
had quite a concert. I was introduced to a great many people
whose faces I did not see, and received invitations, one for a
dinner at Strasburg—don’t know the people by sight! Robert
took my arm and talked about the opera. Suddenly Charpen-
tier, author of Boieldieu’s 4 Chaperon rouge ’ and several of
Herold’s opera-librettos, rushes upon me : 4 Mon cher ami ! vous
etes musicien, je suis poete . . . il faut que nous nous fassions
applaudir a Paris ! ’ And then he offered to give me one, already
half finished, called 4 Alfred le Grand,’ a comic opera, 4 il y a du
tapage etdu pastorale,’ and I was just the man for him, and we
must fly to the clouds together. 4 Oh, que 9a sera beau I ’ I
wish you had seen the face of Robert all the time! How he
looked at that man ! and when he went away murmured after
him something about 4 Le fol! ’ It was splendid. And now
for a good joke. The entrepreneur of the gambling-bank was
furious against me. He charged me with having by my playing
enticed many people away from the roulette, and that was against
his contract. And really the man succeeded in removing the
piano yesterday. But the Roberts and Haizingers conspired
together and gave last night a very nice party in another
room, where there was another piano. First Robert read a new
comedy with Mme. Haizinger, who really read excellently,
and received much applause. Afterwards we made music.
Haizinger yodled a VAutrichienne; Mile, de W. piped in
Italian; Mme. Neumann sang with her husband fifty verses of
4 Fidelio ’ (how do you feel, mother ?) ; I drummed some etudes
of Moscheles, which are much liked at Baden, then also extern-LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

138

porised, and the people were contented aud happy. Some old
ladies shed tears of melancholy, and Heydemann comforted and
touched them in turns, saying much of the tears of melancholy
and melancholy of tears. Magnus preferred talking to the
young ladies, and I listened to the wise words which Benjamin
Constant—kept to himself; for he did not speak the whole
evening. Thus everybody had his own pleasure. But the
greatest amusement came after the party, when the Haizingers
and Roberts went with us students, or rather boys, to the
Golden Sun, our inn, and there had a little warm supper
and a good deal to drink. One good thing followed another.
Mme. Neumann mimicked the whole Karlsruhe theatre, down
to the prompter; the Berlin stage was not spared either,
and a dialogue between Seidel and Esperstadt was especially
amusing. We carried on our jovial entertainment till twelve
o’clock, and I had repeatedly to promise Haizinger to call on
him when I pass through Karlsruhe. To-day Robert himself
will read his opera to me, and I am by all means to listen to
Charpentier’s second act. All this is the consequence of a few
passages on an old piano!

Heidelberg: September 20, 1827.

‘ 0 Heidelberg, beautiful town, where it rains the whole day,’
is the snobbish saying; but what does a student, a jolly fellow
like me, care about the rain ? There are grapes left, instru-
ment-makers, journals, inns, Thibauts—no, that is saying too
much, there is but one Thibaut, but he is worth six. What a
man!

I indulge in a truly wicked gladness, that I have not made
his acquaintance, out of obedience to your letter, dear mother,
received to-day, but had passed a few hours with him yesterday
already, twenty-four hours before the receipt of your letter. It
is strange : the man does not know much about music, even his
historical knowledge of it is limited, he generally judges only
from instinct, I understand more of it than he does, and yet I
have learned a great deal from him and owe him many thanks.
For he has revealed to me the merits of old Italian music, and
warmed me with his enthusiasm for it. There is a glow orHEIDELBERG AND THIBAUT.

139

inspiration in his words—his I do call a flowery language! I have
just taken leave of him, and as I had told him much about
Sebastian Bach and said that he did not yet know the fountain-
head and the most important things in music, because all that
was comprised in Sebastian, he said, when I left him, ‘ Fare-
well, and we will build our friendship on Luis de Vittoria and
Sebastian Bach, like two lovers who promise each other to look
at the moon, and then fancy they are near each other.’

But I must tell you how I came to pay him a visit yester-
day afternoon, when the weather was very bad and we all three
felt very dull. It occurred to me that Thibaut in his book had
mentioned a composition of ‘ Tu es Petrus,’ and as I am now
composing that very text, I plucked up my spirits and my
good coat and walked straight to the Kaltethal and into his
house. He could not give me the piece in question, but had
other, better ones, and showed me at once his large musical
library, music of all nations and all periods, played and sang to
me, explained the pieces, and several hours passed thus, till a
visitor came and I took my leave, not without being asked to
come again to-morrow morning. What I like best was that
he never inquired after my name : I loved music, that was
sufficient for him, and, as I passed for a student, they had
ushered me into his study without first sending in my name.
This morning again we had spent two hours together before
he thought of asking my name, and, kind as he had all the
while been, he was now even more so. We made music together
and became very communicative, and he lent me a magnificent
piece of Lotti’s to copy. I promised to bring it back to him
this evening; but whilst immediately after dinner I was pro-
fiting of some tolerable weather for a walk to the Riesensteine,
he himself, Thibaut, manu propria, came to the hotel to
return my visit, so unfortunately I missed him. But then I found
him at home afterwards, and so, excepting eating, writing, and
walking time, I have spent pretty much my whole day with
him. To-morrow, I am Borry to say, he must go to Karlsruhe
for some business.

When I had left him yesterday at half past six, I amused
myself by going to the instrument-maker’s and here and there140

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

improvising on his piano. When I was taking my leave, the
man, seizing his hat and stick, protested that I must see better
specimens of his manufacture, and that Herr Schroder had an
excellent grand piano of his. All right, we are off, through the
rain, to Herr Schroder’s, a student. We arrived; the instrument-
maker introduces me without knowing my name; no matter;
he himself runs off, home to his work, after having particularly
enjoined me to come back to him. Now I am alone with the
student on his sofa. He begs me to make myself comfortable,
offers me a pipe whilst extemporising, and orders an immense
dog, for growling at my music, under the sofa. 4 Hanne, a bottle
of Hochheimer! We must drink a little together, friend ! ’
And so we did. And with it I played to my heart’s desire,
until I had enough of it and was tired. Now to-day the
student will be our guest at dinner, and this evening again we
are invited at the student’s. After this, who will deny that I
have a vein for merry-making ?

Cologne: October 2, 1827.

Pardon, my dear parents, that to-day again you receive a
letter instead of myself. It is not the first time indeed that I
count upon your indulgence, and I must hope that my present
fault may be no more unpardonable than so many others. I
shall stay away for a few days longer, but then to compensate
for the delay I shall see all the beautiful things and gather all
the useful and agreeable experience I could but dream of. In
your last letter, dear mother, you say that 4 when travelling one
ought to see all that is worth seeing,’ and you, dear father, write
4 that I should make the best use of my senses and my good luck.’

I have made use of my senses, to find everything here
delightful and charming, and will make use of my good luck to
enjoy all the good gifts it offers me.

Magnus received word that he must be in Berlin on the 6th
inst.; Heydemann decided to go with him; and although I had
promised Schelble to come again to Frankfort and be present at
the performance of an oratorio of Handel’s unknown to me, in the
Cacilien-Verein, I had made up my mind to travel with them;
the weather, moreover, being so bad that at Horchheim I couldHOME AGAIN.

141

hardly leave the house. Last night I was about to start, when
of a sudden the clouds left the hills, the mist fell, the moon rose,
and the news arrived that on the right bank of the Rhine, down
the whole way from Horchheim to Ehrenbreitstein, the vintage
would begin. And now Uncle Joseph interfered. He gave me
a glowing description of all the beauties and pleasures of a vin-
tage, and said that two days after it was over he himself is bound
for Frankfort, where he intends to spend the very day of the
Cacilien-Verein. Would I stay and cheer him and aunty and
then go with him, he would himself take me back to Berlin. On
my alleging that I had to finish my piano-score, he brought me
the most beautiful music-paper, and showed me what a good
and quiet place Horchheim is for work. Well, my resistance
was at an end. Now I shall finish at Horchheim this tedious
work, and be rid of it when I come home; I shall hear the
concert of the Cacilien-Verein, for which Schelble, in my honour,
circulates special invitations; I shall partake of the vintage.
Why, you must pardon me, it is all too beautiful!

In October Felix returned to Berlin with fresh courage for
work: his disappointment about the bad success of his opera
was gone.

The autumn of 1827 dealt a very sensible blow to the
beautiful young circle of friends: Klingemann, through wit
and humour its most animating element, went to London.
Soon, however, a lively correspondence was brought about,
which even in later years never ceased entirely. Some parts of
the first letters may find their place here, and we shall have
recourse to this correspondence occasionally in the further course
of our narrative, as it affords the only materials for the descrip-
tion of some periods, and as Fanny did not correspond so exten-
sively with anybody else not belonging to the family.

The first letter from Klingemann to the Mendelssohn family
is dated—

London : December 7, 1827.

Most honoured Herr Stadtrath, and most honoured Frau
Stadtrathin, incomparable young ladies, worthy squires Felix142

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

and Paul,—Up to this time the undersigned has walked about
the West End, the City, Westminster, and Southwark, and the
counties of Middlesex and Surrey, etc., with a heavy load of the
most condemnable ingratitude ; but inasmuch as hatred belongs
to love, so self-reproaches and castigations form a part of virtue,
and I am virtuous! But it is difficult not to trespass, when
under the influence of the thick air the body commands the
intellect; when one is obliged to take large quantities of clas-
sical mutton, half-cooked vegetables, praiseworthy apple pie, and
heavy port wine as a counter weight to the ponderous air; when,
again, valiantly walking the immense distances of the city, one
must swallow the heavy air in behalf of the heavy fare, and then
sleep an endless time to be able to walk again, and by means of
the walking be able to eat again, and so on. Besides all this, I
have an office to wait upon, and it does not wait for me. And
in this chaos of material reality are floating about the slight
remains of my beloved and ever-to-be-praised past life in Berlin,
and Lower Saxony overwhelming me with melancholy confusion.
In Hyde Park I dropped many a sigh, over which many a well-
fed John Bull may have stumbled.

‘ How do you like England ? ’ is the question with which
every miss or mistress to whom I get introduced assails me, and
being by this time prepared for it I invariably parry the thrust
by boldly answering, ‘ Exceedingly well! ’ And that is perfect
truth, for everything here is so attractively different from what
we foreigners are accustomed (mixed at the same time with such
unexpected politeness to a stranger) that I believe it may suf-
ficiently occupy one’s intent for years. There is character,
novelty, and copiousness. It is true that my front teeth have
already considerably suffered from the pronunciation of the th,
and I have not yet quite accustomed my polite German back to
allow the neck to make the fashionable bow without its aid.
As to my English, I am working at it like one who learns swim-
ming at the rope, one—two—three, far from ever a pun or joke,
glad enough when I find the most common expression for the
most common subject, whereas, to quote the far-travelled
Schelvnufskey, 41 swim about easily in the dear old mother
tongue.’ Now for 4 comfort.’ This English comfort is theKLINGEMANN IN ENGLAND.

143

laziest fellow I ever met with. He gets up at ten o’clock, then
he enters his cosy little room, about half as lofty as the one in
the Berlin embassy, but nicely furnished ; a cheerful coal fire is
blazing in the chimney, the water is boiling, the breakfast table
ready, and everything upon it placed in proper symmetry—but
with a special relish the eye rests upon an immeasurable news-
paper, with leading articles, news, law-suits, police reports, and
various scandal. Everything is public, with full name, personal,
often dramatic, local, and in the spirit of the moment. I some-
times fancy that I am reading a play of Aristophanes. The
coals crackle, the coffee steams, between each sip from my cup
I enjoy some interesting elopement of some romantic young miss
or a daring burglary (by-the-by, stealing is carried on here at a
fearful rate), or a dreadful accident of horses having broken
away and postchaises being upset. In short, the climax of my
existence has remained the same, and he who as a youth of
twenty-seven day by day drank his coffee under large trees and
watching the innocent phenomena of nature, as caterpillars and
ants, could not change at twenty-nine. The Turks are menac-
ing, the Spaniards are hanging, the French are making opposi-
tion, the stocks are falling, the ladies’ waists are rising—what
dismal signs of the times to come ! Grigots 1 indeed are very
much the fashion here too, but that does not say much. Some
day or other I shall write to my friend Felix about the Corn
Bill and about the culture of whiskers. There are enormous
specimens here.

Our Hanoverian colony is not amiss. We ‘do’ Spohr,
myself drumming the bass in the overture at four hands with a
young lady, then all of us encircling the piano in a row like
organ pipes and singing—

Cold and stiff and yet majestic,

On the shutter there he lies.

For so we have translated

Kalt und starr, doch majestiitisch,

Liegt der Rajah auf der Bahre.

* A lady’s fashion of the period.144

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

Our beautiful 1 Dahin, dabin ’ we have as felicitously trans-
lated by ‘ Thither, thither ! ’

We also play trios by Hummel and Beethoven, but I do
not play the violin; then some of Beethoven’s symphonies at
four hands, and whist at eight hands. The lingua franca used
by some of our countrymen who have been here for a length of
time already is not bad at all. When, shortly after my arrival, I
was a little hoarse, they asked me, 4 Haben Sie auch schon einen
Kalten gefangen ? ’ I translated it into English, ( Have you
caught a cold already ? ’ and then I understood it.

I only wish I were less near-sighted, especially for the sake
of the English ladies. They do not know how to bake a pan-
cake, and are mostly occupied with useless things, but they look
desperately pretty. A peripatetic girls’ school, dozens of which
you see daily in Begent’s Park, where they come for fresh air,
appears to me like as many pathetic Peris, one more beautiful
than the other, marching two and two, the grown-up ones
together and conscious enough of their victorious gifts; the
severe ayah in the rear looking daggers at every male person.
My idea of English ladies formed long ago at Paris was quite
erroneous. They had then been so long cut off from all the rest
of the world that they had certainly become too peculiar ; but
now they have turned into citizens of the world, and at the same
time absolute Graces. Even the housemaid at the Goltermanns’
looks like a princess or a Hebe. By the way, they are ridi-
culously learned. The other day at the Moscheles’ one of them
asked me whether I had read Kant, which question I could not
well answer in the affirmative; and when she assured me that
she had, I could offer her nothing in reply but the well-known
story about Kant and the student’s button. On the other hand,
she was much astonished when I told her that I had read all
Walter Scott.

You would not believe how patriotic and German one gets
here. The sea that separates us from the Continent gives a
stirring importance to any news coming from beyond it, and
sheds a magic light, such as England with all its riches cannot
attain, on all we left behind. Berlin appears to me a perfect
Eldorado, and a Sunday at the Mendelssohns’ like a chapterOPERAS IN ENGLAND.

HS

from a fairy tale: all irony changes into sentiment, and our
love for the home customs is so strong that we have promised to
meet this evening and play ‘ Besten Bauern,’ and, if the Golter-
manns have understood my hint, are likely to have German
potato salad for supper. I am afraid I am found fault with for
quoting Berlin too often ; even the fire-alarm at night I have
felt called upon to defend, on the ground of one’s being fully
conscious how sweet sleep is only when dropping off again
after a disturbance.

I am meditating some articles for the MusiJcalische
Zeitung. I have seen ‘Oberon,’ the ‘ Freischiitz,’ and am
going to the ‘ Seraglio,’ and then intend to see some English
operas. May heaven bless this undertaking ! The manufactur-
ing of such an opera is brought about literally in the following
manner. Somebody writes the piece, in 1790 or thereabouts,
and some Mr. Storace sets it to music; the elements of his
music are decidedly fabulous and prehistorical. Now the opera
is looked up again, remodelled by a new poet, and Mr. Cooke
writes a new overture for it; another somebody, whose name
does not occur to me, writes airs for it, except those Braham
is to sing, which he manufactures for himself; the prima
donna, Mme. Feron, of chromatic memory, brings her part
from Italy, written by Mercadante or some other Italian, and
then a Neapolitan song with variations is added. The rest is
the original music by Storace. This piece(meal) was formerly
called ‘The Pirate,’ and is now the fashion under the name
of ‘ Isidore de Merida; or, The Devil’s Creek.’

Dr. H. has some relations at Deptford, a family B. who have
a factory in that suburb, and he has introduced me there as—
‘a singer’1 My impudence can only be excused in a strange
country. They instantly offered me the part of Don Juan, and I
accepted and sang it!! Deptford is more than a good German
mile from my West End, and in Germany it would be considered
rather adventurous to go there to tea; but here one takes a
seat on one of the admirable stage-coaches, and is there in half
an hour. I never see these stages without pleasure. The big
carriage, on which the passengers cling like wasps on a sweet
pear, rolls so swiftly and merrily along that my heart rejoices

VOL. i.	l146

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

at the thought of next spring, -when the stage, with its team
of four strong horses, is to convey me 80 miles a day along the
smooth roads and across the green, hilly country, full of towns,
villages, and cottages, to Scotland. Even near London the
country is pretty : country-houses and meadows on all sides,
soft hills, now and then a glimpse of the Thames, parks, fields ;
and the green is still beautiful, although snow and ice have
come rather early this year.

But London is too large: I told them so at once. They
do not, however, listen to me, and go on building at quite
a ridiculous rate. The houses will at last he obliged to hire
the people, instead of the reverse : there’s no end to be seen of it,
and the monster may yet swallow many a village before it is
satisfied. His majesty our most gracious king is also building
a good deal, and follows the same theory, according to which
the court-tailor has to make the royal coats, i.e. the new coat
is put on quite a similar figure, and the tailor has then to cqt
out plait after plait and sew it together again. The new palace
is being built in the same way; any cupola or balcony that
does not give satisfaction is pulled down again, and something
else put up instead. But I know nothing more grand than
the plan Regent Street and Regent’s Park are laid out upon.
Perhaps it surpasses even the Linden. But the City is the
best of all, and to struggle on through the quantity of carriages,
coal-heavers, rogues, and honest people to where, in the neigh-
bourhood of the Bank, Birch’s famous mock-turtle soup is to
be had, affords real pleasure. The impression made by this
enormous bustle and turmoil may be called demoniac; but
there is an order withal, the laws of which are hardly known.
But if on Sunday you pass those same streets in which on
week days you cannot hear your own voice, you are almost
frightened at the silence. However melancholy English
Sundays are represented on the Continent, the contrast is
greater than one has an idea of. Dulness alone must fill the
churches; the town is overhung by indescribable thick yellow
fog, which even penetrates into the rooms ; all shops are closed,
.no newspapers appear, a miserable bell plaintively calls together
the pious congregation; the English families enjoy themselvesA GERMAN IN LONDON.

147

early and late without the help of strangers, quite by them-
selves, they have even special books for Sundays, and nobody
would think of the theatre. I am not personally concerned in
all this, as we young Germans have a regular Sunday-invitation
in the family of one of our countrymen, but sometimes involun-
tarily a sensation of the universal dulness comes over one, and
then one confesses oneself 4 low-spirited.’ Our having a theatre
on Sunday in Germany is what they can least comprehend,
and it appears to them downright sinful. All my arguments
about this subject with a 4 miss’ were of no avail. I asked her
whether her toilet gave her less pleasure on a Sunday, whether
she had less appetite for her dinner and tea on a Sunday—the
theatre was sinful. In one respect we Germans are especially
favoured here—we are all supposed to be born with a flute or a
piano attached to us, every German is a person full of music.
It is quite touching to see how fond the good people are of
music, and what a stomach they have for listening! Like
ostriches, they swallow pebbles or sweetmeats as it happens.
And everything is so long here ! I believe Beethoven must have
been an Englishman. The oysters, however, are elegantly small.
What would big F. say if he had only to look across the street
from my window to see them delicately swimming in a little
wooden tub! not that clumsy, fleshy Holstein substance—no,
slender and sentimental, and glancing at you out of the water
with a kind of melancholy longing. And then their strong,
brown, manly companion, porter, stoutly foaming in those pecu-
liar glossy tin tankards. Big F. would blush for pleasure !

But I got pale on the sea ! A few Sundays ago I renewed
acquaintance with a lively little lady whom I had met on
the steamer in coming over. 4 You looked very miserable,’ she
said, laughing; 4 you are quite changed now.’ Indeed my
countenance must have been rather pale and vacant, whilst I
was staring at the gray sea and the broad moonlight on it,
which seemed to me like an infinite sigh. But I was not sea-
sick, and in spite of my total apathy had sufficient clearness
of mind left for dreaming. So I continued on deck, with
biscuits and grog for my food. A few experienced travellers
were playing at cards for champagne, and in course of time148

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

had the impudence to offer me a glass. I could have knocked
it out of their hands. And yet a remembrance of my own past
joys still lingered in me, and with true envy did I watch the fat
Norwegian consul sipping his excellent coffee on deck. One
lady after the other disappeared, except my before-mentioned
merry companion, who always remained on deck, with bright
eyes, reading aloud, playing chess, etc. After all, they were
only bad episodes. On the whole we had it very quiet, smooth,
and serene, warm sunshine and gentle wind, no storm and no
waves. That great severer, the sea, is like an immense dash—
beginning at the Elbe. On that bright morning of September
1, in the harbour of Hamburg, when a boat had conveyed the
solitary passenger and his goods and chattels to the steamer,
and all the noise of the ship, of the coming and going, and
leave-taking and cheering people, was over, the great dash com-
menced and cut off a beautiful sentence, while the steam-engine
growled out a bass-accompaniment to the song, ‘ Three oarsmen
were riding far out of the gate—farewell! ’

But I should like to see that sentimental journey-man
■who is not seized with enthusiasm when the signal for setting
sail is given, and who does not forget the steam from his
mother’s coffee-pot when the steam rises from the funnel of the
ship. The evening was splendid, we came into open sea, the
vessel heaved, the expected moonlight appeared, and the sky
was full of trumpets and drums. Although the little lady
laughed at my giddy gait, I had much self-possession left. By-
and-by my whole past life was swallowed up by the sea, and
I went to sleep in my cupboard. The next day was that of
perfect apathy, but on the third morning the shore of Essex lay
before us, with white castles, gray spires, and brown villages.
We soon came into smooth water, all sufferings were over, once
more a solid sensation of well-being returned, and I could look
cheerfully about me. At the mouth of the Thames hundreds of
ships were dancing a grand cotillon, the order of which I under-
stood no better than does an old-fashioned mother the real cotillon
in which she sees her daughter driven about in all directions.

We now made our triumphal entry, or rather merry Eng-
land triumphed over us—the ship’s cotillon now became anFROM HAMBURG TO THE THAMES.

149

Eco880&86 on the Thames. In long rows they went up and
down, steamers playing the part of merry fellows, and glided
cheerfully by, filled with passengers and music. The villages,
country-houses, and towns on the banks looked on smilingly,
until they grew more and more like stately matrons, and more
and more compact, and finally turned into the metropolis
herself—ships, ships, and ships again, numberless masts,
like so many bean-sticks at Farmer Baumann’s at the Meierei.
About three o’clock we. landed at the old Tower, and after some
delay, for the examination of my passport and luggage, a cab
drove me speedily through a part of London I had not passed
in the ship, and in the evening I found myself safely at the
Goltermanns’, who had offered me the hospitality of their house;
no longer envying the Norwegian consul his coffee, and listen-
ing comfortably to a discussion about trade and the new cabinet
in the very best English.

I cannot complain of the expense of living in London.
As a bachelor I live comfortably on my 300£. a year. But it
is different with families: the necessary establishment and ser-
vants require as much again. Consequently I am condemned
to eternal youth : in spite of all the Berlin prophecies, my single
blessedness will not soon become a double one—I shall win the
bets. For the present, the new surroundings have brought back
many of my youthful habits and delights. Thus the theatre here
finds me quite a new man, and I especially enjoy English
comedies. I am not yet able to decide whether the actors are
really as original and natural as they appear to me, or whether
much of the pleasure is not owing to newness and strangeness.
I could make a long list already of the actors who appear to me
excellent. The public also seems to me to evince more sympathy
than at home; in a kind of critical innocence it is easily
moved to applause by vigorously spoken passages, and laughs
heartily at the jokes. But at the entrance of the theatre, before
the doors are opened, policemen call out, 4 Gentlemen, take care
of your pockets in going in ; take care of pickpockets, gentle-
men ! ’ And everybody makes sure of his property. A London
paper, the Herald, states that there are between 80,000 and
100,000 thieves of both sexes in the town.150

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

December 11.—Rome was not built in a day, and my letter
was not finished for the last mail either : the rough hand of duty
interfered. Yesterday, on the 10th,1 in thought I sent my best
wishes to you, dear Mr. Mendelssohn. I tried to guess whether
all the merry young folks danced, piped, acted, or whatever else
they performed in honour of the day. I hope soon to hear
about it. I am longing for news from Berlin : everything
interests me, down to the pavement in the streets and the
Wednesday literary society. If you, dearest Mr. Mendelssohn,
should not feel inclined to write, pray give strict orders to one
of your promising children—for instance, to the eldest son—to
let me have as minute an account as possible, in the proper
chronicle style.

Fanny to Klingemann.

Berlin : December 23, 1827.

Remember the date of your letter, calculate the time of its
journey, and you will find that on the very day after I
got it I have interrupted my important Christmas prepara-
tions, and am sitting at my desk to write at least the beginning
of an answer. Each of us considers your delightful letter as his
or her especial property, and, as we are all going to write, you
will have to pardon us if we now and then come into collision.
But it was not otherwise when we had you here, and must often
have treated you with the same story twice: why not now
twenty or forty times ? In this respect the one whose letter
you read first has a decided privilege ; the others are necessarily
more or less like parrots.

The longer you kept us waiting for your letter, the more
we enjoyed it when at last it arrived (but do not take this as a
rule for the future ; henceforward it will be the reverse !), and
it stood in danger of being literally torn to pieces between us,
had not father and mother been generous enough to allow us
the first reading.

December 25.—The Christmas-candles are burnt down,, the
beautiful presents stowed away, and we spend our Christmas

1 Klingemann mistook the date. Abraham Mendelssohn’s birthday was
on December 11.CHRISTMAS AT NO. 3.

ISI

day quietly at home. Mother is asleep in one corner of the
sofa, Paul in the other, Rebecca absorbed in the Fashions, and
I am going to continue my letter. On days like yesterday we
miss you more than generally ; and as ‘ generally ’ we speak of
you every half-hour, you may draw the conclusion. Our Christ-
mas-eve, however, was very merry and pleasant. Felix had
written for Rebecca a children’s symphony with the instruments
of the Haydn one, which we performed. It is most amusing.
For me he has written a piece of a different kind, a four-part
chorus with small orchestra accompaniment on the chorale,
‘ Christe, du Lamm Gottes.’ I have played it several times
to-day; it is most beautiful. Altogether he has devoted him-
self much to church music of late. On my birthday he gave
me a piece for chorus and orchestra, in nineteen parts, on the
words, c Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram sedificabo ecclesiam
meam.’ I believe it to be a very remarkable work, but only
to be fully appreciated when performed in a great church and
under proper conditions. It is great fun that D., from one
thing or another Felix said about this matter, began to fear
that he might have turned Roman Catholic, and expressed his
anxiety to S., who again confided it to another friend, so that
we were already in dread of its becoming town talk, which
happily it has not.

If you were here you would find plenty of scope for your wit
and fun in the taste for learning the public exhibits this year.
Of Alexander von Humboldt’s lecture on physical geography at
the university you must have heard. But do you know that at
his majesty’s desire he has begun a second course of lectures
in the hall of the Singakademie, attended by everybody who
lays any claim to good breeding and fashion, from the king and
the whole court, ministers, generals, officers, artists, authors,
beaux esprits (and ugly ones, too), students, and ladies, down
to your unworthy correspondent? The crowd is fearful, the
public imposing, and the lectures are very interesting indeed.
Gentlemen may laugh as much as they like, but it is delightful
that we too have the opportunity given us of listening to clever
men. We fully enjoy this happiness, and must try to bear
the scoffing. And now I will give up completely to your152

LE1PZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

mockery, by confessing that we are hearing another course of
lectures, from a foreigner, about experimental physics. These
lectures are likewise attended by ladies chiefly. Holtei’s lec-
tures have attracted an uncommonly large public this year.
He reads in a newly built room, well lighted with gas. A
propos of gas, just fancy that the darkness at Crelle’s is changed
into the brightest light (i.e. gas), so that now you can not only
see your own self but everybody else in the room. I suppose all
houses without exception are lighted with gas in England?
Here it is getting more and more generally introduced, the
same as the trottoirs, in which you take such a kind interest.
In the autumn, Holtei, who had seen something of the Gar-
tenzeitung, founded a Thee- und Schneezeitung, on the same
system, contributions for which were to be put into a tin box,
deposited in our house. For a time it went on well, as Frank
and Eichborn wrote very amusing articles, but very soon sub-
mitted to the fate of all human things. The introduction was
a poem to you, as one who, though absent, lived amongst us.
On my birthday we had a very pretty dance, with very pretty
girls. You ought to have been here. Cannot you make them
send you over here for a few days as a courier, just to have a
kaleidoscopic look at our doings, and then wrap yourself up again
in your English fog ? Our Sundays are no longer so fairy-like :
the true spirit of fun and pleasure is gone, and you know best
who carried it away I It is a pity !

I like your performance of Don Juan. Was it in German
or in Italian ? It must be delicious to hear an Englishman
sing Italian. At the Konigstadt theatre here they have now
an Italian singer of rare merit, Costanza Tibaldi. She unites
all you have ever read in novels and romances of southern fire,
burning power of the eyes, Juno-figure, irresistible charm of
language and accent. She generally appears in men’s parts,
and never did I see a more beautiful youth ; but female attire
is likewise becoming to her, and I must add that I have seen
few more beautiful women. Her voice is a deep alto, without
especial charm, but every sound from her mouth inspires one
with enthusiasm. Fancy me hearing a duet of Rossini’s twice
with pleasure! I suppose the news has not yet penetrated asBERLIN AND LONDON.

153

far as England that Nageli is preparing a new edition of
Bach’s great five-part mass in B minor? It is a triumph
for the Berlin enthusiasts, Marx above all. The man really
deserves well of the undertaking, from which (as he knows)
he will have no pecuniary advantage.

Klingemann to Fanny.

'	London: January 22, 1828.

If I do not write a long letter now, the general one which I
have addressed to the whole dear family may excuse me. Here
I only write to express the veneration and gratitude with which
the delightful epistle of my severe but benevolent patroness has
been received. No general letter can give me a dispensation
from this duty, no more than the insolent thought how much
gratitude a young lady must have anticipated whilst bestow-
ing such a favour. It would have been too old-fashioned and
pedantic if I had expressed my sense of obligation in poetry, and
appeared to you about as original as when your partner in a
cotillon at the Frankels’ (no doubt an officer) asks you if you
have danced much this winter, or the equivalent phrase this
season, how you like Humboldt’s lectures. Now do not, for
heaven’s sake, believe that I mean to become satirical as regards
the progress of my young lady friends in the knowledge of the
chemical elements of a collar or a cake : they are deeply im-
portant and necessary things. And why should not a young
lady know how and where her shawl has grown, quite as well
as the professor, who is behind her in the knowledge of its
practical use ? And another great advantage: suppose you
were suddenly cast away to Mongolia, you would only have to
submit some mountain or river or earth to a trifling investiga-
tion to say for certain, Here I am in Mongolia, consequently
so and so many post-stages from Leipziger Strasse No. 3, and
quietly order your horses. I know no better illustration of the
usefulness of geography than that of the French employe who,
during the time of the Empire, is sent to Groningen, and there-
upon complains with his friends and family at being obliged
to go to such a cruelly cold, far-off region, because he thinksLEIPZICER STRASSE No. 3.

>54

of Gronland (Greenland) instead of the Dutch town. No ; my
only fear and objection lies in another quarter—I am afraid that
any man, however learned and dignified, will feel a little foolish
in the presence of ladies, and the subject will run away with
the object. You must not be angry about it, for at the bottom
of all this there is much less want of confidence in the female
powers of perception than an innate desire to please you rather
than teach you—4 ’Tis my vocation, Hal.’ Woe to the time
when this chivalrous feeling is extinguished ! One thing, how-
ever, I have to reproach you with, which is, that you follow the
false principle which prevails among women, and do not carry
your knowledge into life and letters—I find no comparison or
metaphor from chemistry, and yet they would be so ornamental!
If I did but know anything of the matter, I would make a
better use of it!

The day of our 4 Messiah ’ performance was one of the loveliest
imaginable, like a May-day for warmth, sunshine, blue air, and
green grass; if the trees had also been green, it would have
been the very weather for home-sickness. My companion and
I were sitting on a bench near the Serpentine river in Hyde Park,
enjoying the sunshine and looking at the swans and English-
women who glided past us by land and water so solemnly and
elegantly. We never once thought of the new Cabinet, but
had a good talk about home. Afterwards I went with H. to
Deptford, the first time that we went there by day. Outside
the stage I felt as if a sceptre had been put into my hand, such a
glorious and regal view I had from my high seat, first of the
crowded streets, and then, going over Westminster Bridge, of
the splendid river. For five miles, indeed, the houses formed
an almost uninterrupted row; but whenever we could get a
glimpse beyond, it fell on lovely green meadows and the blue
outlines of hills.

I do share my friend X.’s regret at the loss caused by my
absence, but did not know that I was expected to write tc
him. He was away when I went away, and I believe that a
letter from him might just as well begin, 4 At my return I
found you no longer here,’ as one from me, 4 Cruel fate carried
me off before I could take my leave of you.’THE BERLIN SING A KA DEM IE.

155

Fanny to Klingemann.

Berlin : February 15, 1828.

... In the character of your appointed musical gazette,
I can give you at least some news. The Singakademie, find-
ing its financial affairs in rather a complicated condition,
has actually condescended to sing for its own benefit. My
symphony association joined in the laudable enterprise (which
gave me an opportunity of hearing it myself), and the concert
would have been perfect had not by chance all the solo singers
been prevented from singing, and so it came to pass that Kopke
sang the whole bass and tenor part prima vista. It was a great
achievement, the audience was satisfied, and the performance
has been repeated, with such success that it has been called the
eighth wonder of the world. Meanwhile we danced at the
Heynes’, and evinced our feeling for art and music by alternate
galops and waltzes. The most important novelty in music since
you left is a galop-waltz with text, with which the whole town
is ringing. No ball without the melody—you cannot even live
two minutes without being pursued by it, just as one used to be
by the Huntsman’s Chorus, or last year by the talk about Sontag.
I give you the manuscript:—

				:=m=P==g=:	
%j	*	w  Lott ist todt, Lott ist todt,	Ju - le liegt in	Ster - hen;  Schechner todt, Schechner todt, Son-tagschwimmtin	Kan - ten;					
	=i»-£—			E-~—"A-1		=J=i=y= =
—*=—==	^—te—————1			w	U	m-J		

Lot - te liat ein grii - ties Kleid, Dag will die Ju - le er - ben.
Wo hat sie sie her? Wo hat sie sie her? Vonenglischen Ge - sand - ten.1

1 A popular street song in Berlin :—

Lottie’s dead, Lottie’s dead,

Julia lies a-dying:

Lottie had a green silk dress,

For which was Julia sighing.

Which was parodied, in mockery of Schechner and Sontag, two well-known
Berlin singers:—

Schechner’s dead, Schechner’s dead,

Sontag floats in laces.

Whence are they ? whence are they ?

The British Envoy’s Graces !LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

156

There are innumerable other verses, some of them not fit for
ladies’ ears.

In 1828, on the 18th of April, for perhaps the first time
in Germany, one of those universal festivals took place which
at a later date, and especially from 1848 to 1866, became so
frequent, and by which the Germans tried to forget their want
of political union. The one in question was the Diirer centen-
ary, and Fanny gives an account of it to Klingemann.

Berlin: April 14, 1828

This winter we have heard from Moser most of Beethoven’s
symphonies, however imperfectly. It is a step forward, anyhow,
and we do live in a time when progress in all respects, and
in art also, is astounding, whether we acknowledge it or not.
The Passion-music will without fail be published this year by
Schlesinger. Schelble at Frankfort has performed part of the
mass with applause. The movement is general, the same wind
is rustling in all the branches, there is no shutting one’s ears
to it. The old antiquated phoenix is only waiting for his
funeral pile, and will not be long finding it, for the time is
at hand, and we shall live to see great things. I do not know
why I am so historically disposed to-day, and have a mind
to measure everything by centuries and nations. It is because
Spontini is going, on the Fast-day, to perform the first part
of Beethoven’s and the second of Bach’s mass; showing
thereby that the greatest talents make the most narrow-
minded mistakes, and that nevertheless the world marches
on with seven-leagued boots and scorns everything little. Is
that my comfort ? No, my comfort is that Felix will remain
another year at Berlin, that he is pretty sure now not to have
to serve his year in the army, and the rest will have its
course.

20th April.—I dould never have believed that we should
have to thank the Diirer festival for so happy a day and such
charming recollections. Felix in six weeks has written a
grand cantata for chorus and full orchestra, with airs, recita-
tives, and all sorts of things. You may fancy that such hastyBERLIN. THE DURER FESTIVAL.

157

work has do especial value for him: at first he was so angry
about it that he talked of burning the whole thing as soon
as the performance was over. But as the rehearsals and the
choruses were admirably executed by the academy, he was re-
conciled, and the beautiful decoration of the room and liberality
of arrangements made his pleasure complete. When on Thurs-
day evening at the last rehearsal things went rather unsatis-
factorily, Felix remained very cool, and assured everybody that
all would come off splendidly. And splendidly it did come
off I On Friday the 18th of April, the 300th anniversary of
Diirer’s death, the most exquisite spring day, the whole academy
of arts, with their senate, and all the students of the academy
of architecture, proceeded to the hall of the Singakademie,
which was decorated in the following way: the background
of the orchestra was formed by a partition wall, painted in red
and gold, in the centre of which stood Diirer’s colossal statue
between two smaller female figures, representing different
branches of his art. Above this was a painting by Dahling after
a woodcut of Diirer’s in the form of Raphael’s Loggie, with large
green draperies on both sides. The effect was quite striking,
and very beautiful. The orchestra, consisting of the best per-
formers of both orchestras, and some amateurs, was conducted by
Felix and Rietz, whilst Zelter at the piano conducted the choir.
The ladies (contrary to their custom) were very elegantly and
beautifully dressed, and looked very nice, and the orchestra was
quite a splendid sight. The public, too, looked extremely festive,
and I never remember more perfect silence in such a large
assembly. The festival began with Felix’s Trumpet-overture
in C major. Then followed a speech by T., which lasted three
quarters of an hour—an age! Hardly ever have I seen an
audience more joyfully moved than when he spoke of Diirer’s
approaching death—a general murmur of applause was heard ;
and when at last it was really over, all started from their seats
in frantic joy. Then followed the cantata, which lasted up-
wards of an hour and a quarter. The soli were sung by Mmes.
Milder and Tiirrschmiedt, Stumer and Devrient. Everything
went off so successfully, and the reception was so genial, that
I do not remember ever passing more agreeable hours. The158

LE1PZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

solemnity was finished by three o’clock, and at four a dinner
of about two hundred persons began, mostly artists, learned
men, and high-place government officials : we went as guests
of Schadow, who presided at the table. I cannot tell you
how Felix was honoured and courted by people of distinction,
known and unknown ; but one thing I must add, that towards
the end of the meal Zelter and Schadow took him by the hand,
and the latter made a speech to him and solemnly proclaimed
him an honorary member of the Artists’ Association, of which
he received the diploma. At the same time his health was
proposed and enthusiastically cheered. Yesterday the whole
day was taken up by visits of congratulation. But what re-
joices me most is that he himself is so pleased with this day,
and shows himself more susceptible than hitherto of the honours
he received. I assure you he is more excellent and more
amiable from day to day ; and this is not sisterly affection, but
an impartial judgment. I beg you, however, to tell nobody,
known or unknown to me, anything of this; for nobody, not
even you, will think me impartial, and Felix would be angry if
he knew that I have written so much about him.

In conclusion, I must tell you that we miss you and long
for you very much. Ah, Mr. Klingemann, who is there now
to criticise our embroideries, our new dresses, or our bonnets ?
Who drops in en 'passant for half an hour’s chat ? Who under-
stands nonsense, and knows how other honest people feel ? All
these inestimable qualities, as well as the praiseworthy dexterity
with which you handle the German language, must now perish
in London.

The same to the same.

June 18, 1828.

A gentle rain coming down from the soft warm atmosphere,
the green lawn bordered in by a thick row of magnificent
roses, a gigantic strawberry which Paul is just putting into my
mouth, spring inside and outside, bright spirits, loving thoughts
of the absent—such are the outlines and features of our ‘ to-
day.’ And so you have had a walking tour, dear Klingemann ?
I assure you I am not laughing at it, but am truly glad thatWHITSUNTIDE HOLIDAYS.

J59

you could leave the coal region of London behind you for a little
time, and breathe the fresh air and the smell of the lilacs.
Ours were beautiful, and lilies of the valley and violets we have
had in quantities: now the red children of summer, roses and
strawberries, have succeeded them, and fill the atmosphere with
their fragrant perfume. Ob, summer is beautiful!

Our Whitsuntide holidays were spent in the following
manner: Paul with seven school friends and a teacher had
arranged a walking tour to Neustadt-Eberswaldc, for the purpose
of seeing the iron, copper, and brass factories and foundries ; but
the magistrate (in this case represented by father), who did
not know the teacher and wanted the control to be controlled
(don’t you recognise your Prussians there ?), appointed Felix
to this important and secret post. Felix, like a dutiful son, ex-
pressed at once an ardent desire to keep the technological young
folks company ; but not a bit inclined to pass a dull time, he
summoned three friends to secretly follow him and accidentally
meet him down there. Arend and Droysen actually hire a
carriage and persuade little David to be of the party! As late
as eleven o’clock in the evening David runs with Droysen to
Blume and Stegmayer, to obtain his leave; the money—at a
low ebb so near the end of the month—is got on credit, and
the party arrive at Neustadt shortly after the pedestrians. Now
there is no end of fun, swimming, driving, walking, riding,
sight-seeing. David extemporised on his violin for the benefit
of all the foundries, and a bill of sixteen thalers is run up for
Bierkaltschale [a summer drink]—a fact which I cannot com-
prehend to this day.

During this time father was ill of ague, a pretty general
complaint here at present, but only slightly and for a very short
time, and when the young men came home, fatigued after their
eight days’ pleasure, he was well again. I know you will be
interested to hear that the Fiauleins M. were here. Late in the
evening we walked in the garden, and with 1826 sighs thought
of the year 1826 (a group of youths followed us at a little
distance). Suddenly, as if under the charm of sacred recollec-
tions, we all rushed to the ‘ editor’s place,’ formed a ring round
the editor’s poplar (we could only just do it), and solemnly calledi6o

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

out three times,4 Klingemann! Klingemann !! Klingemann I!! ’
It was beautiful—I am sure you would have been pleased.

You ask why we never mentioned Borne’s stay in Berlin ?
Because in all the wide, wide world nothing is to be said of him.
At times we thought that some nobody had equipped himself
with this nice name for travelling about. This is not an opinion
formed on just seeing him once—he stayed a long time, and we
have met him alone, in company, at noon, at night, and upon
all sorts of occasions—he has always been the same little man,
hard of hearing and still harder of comprehending, to whom
the simplest things were new and strange, who, like all the
common people at Frankfort, wondered to see the Berliners
walk on their hind-legs and eat with their fore-legs, wondered
that the trees here were really green and the snow really white.

One day he produced a book and made me say the number
10,430, after which, when in anxious silence I expected some
problem, he declared the examination finished, and intimated
his surprise at my being able to pronounce a number of five
figures. We have never heard from him a word deserving
notice, never seen a spark or a glimpse of genius.

Remarkable things have happened in Germany. The second
part of 4 Faust,’ a direct continuation of the first, has appeared.
Having only read it once and quickly, I cannot say anything
about it, but that its tone and spirit is much more like the first
than ‘Helena,’ which perhaps you have not yet read either.
Unfortunately the things are not to be had separately, and
the subscribers to the large edition have only now received the
first number, whilst of the small edition three numbers have
already appeared. The new 4 Faust ’ is also a fragment, and con-
cludes with the words 4 to be continued.’ I am convinced he will
continue 4 Faust’ as long as he lives ; and he will live long—of
that I am also convinced. He is destined perfectly to fulfil the
lot of man in every respect, and, as he did not die before his
4 Werther,’ he will reach the highest possible age. But now
listen to a piece of news that made me laugh as long as I did
not believe it: Holtey has prepared Goethe’s 4 Faust ’ for the
Konigstadt theatre : with Rosicke as Mephistopheles.

But it is a fact! When you have recovered from your*FAUST’ ON THE STAGE.

161

astonishment I will go on. Goethe, in the truly regal spirit
and wise mildness and superiority of his age, has himself given
his consent. I maintain that when Holtey made his proposal
he muttered in his habitual kind way, ‘ Well, well! ’ where-
upon Holtey grasped his hand with enthusiasm and cried out,
‘I understand you, and thank you;’ and, lo and behold, the
old king was too proud to clear up the intentional mistake, for
he thought, ‘ Do with me as you like, you can neither pull me
down nor lift me up: why not then take me to the Konigstadt
theatre ? ’ Oh, irony of fate ! In our house, where as you know
the most innocent remark on the weather calls forth violent party-
struggles, all shades of opinion are to be met with, from mother,
a partisan of Holtey and the Konigstadter, who praises and
rejoices, and father, also partial to Holtey, who mildly dis-
approves, down to us, who, not partial to Holtey, though not
disliking him, are furious: each feels and judges differently.
As soon as the crime has really been perpetrated you shall hear
the particulars.

Your English musical news is quite delightful. Of all the
music for four hands you wish to possess, nothing exists as yet.
But who knows, perhaps I may some day find leisure and set
to work arranging the overture for the Midsummer-night’s
Dream for you. It will be quite as nice a gift as a purse or
a pocket-book. Felix is writing a great instrumental piece,
‘ Meeresstille und gliickliche Fahrt,’ after Goethe’s poem. It
will be worthy of him. He wanted to avoid an overture with
introduction, and the whole consists of two separate tableaux.'

The same to the same.

September 12, 1828.

. . . A propos of Konigstadt, it is my turn now to make
fun of you, Mr. Klingemann. Goethe after all would not hear
of ‘Faust’ on the stage, and the subject has been dropped. So
for once ‘ youth quickly inflamed by love and by wrath ’ has
been right.

15th.—Again I have a whole sackful of news to overwhelm
you with. Do you remember, from the pre- Adamite time of your
residence in Germany, that a number of physicians and physio-

YOL. i.	mLEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

162

logists used to have a meeting every year ? They have chosen
Berlin this time, and Humboldt is their president, Lichtenstein
their secretary, and their existence the topic of the day. But
this is not all. Humboldt, the cosmopolitan, the grandest, most
amiable, and most learned courtier of his time, gives them a fete
the like of which this town has never seen. It is to take place
in the concert hall, seven hundred guests are invited, among them
the king, six students, three pupils of the highest class of all the
upper public schools, all the head-masters of those schools, all
naturalists, et le reste. Felix has been requested to write a
cantata for their reception (you see he is the fashion), and
Rellstab, who luckily returned from Spandau just in time,
has done the words. As the naturalists follow the rule of
Mahomet and exclude women from their paradise, the choir
consists only of the best male voices of the capital; and as
Humboldt, whose forte music is not, has limited his composer
as to the number of musicians, the orchestra is quite original;
it consists only of double-basses, violoncellos, trumpets, horns,
and clarinets. Yesterday they had a rehearsal, and the effect
is said to be good. The only thing vexatious is that we
must not be present. You cannot imagine the ridiculous
mixture of country-town gossip and metropolitan grandeur
which has come to light on the occasion. The whole arrange-
ment, the reception of all the philosophising strangers, and
the crown of names great in science for one purpose (though a
mere social one), is undoubtedly grand. But now everybody
knows, inquires, and reports how much Beyermann has to furnish
for the money, what Humboldt will have to pay for the enter-
tainment of his guests, and what the refreshments, ordered at
Conradi’s, will be like. We young folks get angry every time
when these miserable details are mentioned.

The same to the same.

Berlin : December 8, 1828.

. . . Many thanks for the birthday-wishes you sent me:
it was quite a poem. My birthday was celebrated very nicely,
and I cannot deny that in the evening 1 was tired out, whatA SONG WITHOUT WORDS.

163

with all my visitors and all my talking and thanking. Felix
has given me three presents, a i song without words ’1 for my
album (he has lately written several beautiful ones), another
piece for the piano composed not long ago and already known
to me, and a great work, a piece for four choruses, Antiphona
et Responsorium, about the words ‘ Hora est, jam nos de somno
surgere,’ etc. The academy is going to sing it. I will gladly
fulfil your request and give you particulars of what Felix is
doing, although that is less easy than it may appear. On the
whole, I feel no doubt that with every new work he makes an
advance in clearness and depth. His ideas take more and
more a fixed direction, and he steadily advances towards the
aim he has set himself, and of which he is clearly conscious.
I know not how to define this aim, perhaps because an idea in
art cannot altogether be well expressed in words—otherwise
poetry would be the only art—perhaps also because I can only
watch his progress with loving eyes, and not on the wings of
thought lead the way and foresee his aim. He has full command
over all his talents, and day by day enlarges his domain, ruling
like a general over all the means of development art can offer
him.

December 27, 1828.

Christmas has passed before I found leisure to continue our
conversation. Our needle-work, although early begun, was much
more extensive than usual, and towards the end accumulated to
such a degree that we had to spend all our time in getting
through it. Owing to our Christmas work the festive time of
preparation occupies a ' much longer period for us women than
you can understand : in the last few weeks before Christmas we
do really, like children, feel under a charm, and acknowledge
no other interests and purposes than those of the needle. It is
only during the holidays that I have found out that other instru-
ments besides needles, and other strings besides silk, are in
existence. But you ought to have seen our achievements 1 A
table-cover which we made is universally admired, and I am sure
you would have more than once put on your eye-glass to watch

1 Perhaps the first appearance of this name, now so familiar. The first
book (Op. 19) was not published till August 1832.164

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

the progress of our work. Christmas-eve was most animated and
pleasant. You know that in our house there must always he
a sort of jeune garde, and the presence of my brothers and the
constant flow of young life exercise an ever attractive influence,
so that now too the set is complete, and nothing to be said
against the generation of the day—they are most lively and
amiable. Grans presides as commander and protector of the
younger ones. He is a man of intellect and knowledge, and
of great social talent likewise, in spite of many pieces of bear-
ishness. We sisters are trying to teach him manners; but
although he earnestly endeavours to improve, he often forgets
our lessons. The other day, at a very nice dinner at the Breslau
Mendelssohns’, he was my neighbour, and took care of me with
much politeness; but when the cherries were handed round, he
first took a handful himself, and then asked, ‘ May I help you
to some ? ’ I declined.

As a counterpart of Gans I must mention Dirichlet, pro-
fessor of mathematics, a very handsome and amiable man,
as full of fun and spirits as a student, and very learned.
Gans quarrels and fights with him like a schoolboy. Amongst
the new-comers there is also Hensel, who returned from Italy
two months ago, and is likewise a merry, animating member
of our society. All this new set has somehow to suffer from
you, as your name constantly hovers about them like a shadow ;
but, on the other hand, they are pleased at the interest we take
in an absent one, and hope some day to be similarly remem-
bered by us. Droysen, a philologist of nineteen, with all the
freshness and lively active interests of his age, with a know-
ledge far above his age, endowed with a pure, pcetic spirit and
a healthy amiable mind, by which any age would be adorned,
said to me yesterday that he had formed a complete idea of
your personal appearance. I diligently inquire, and have to
learn that he fancies you something like Eietz! 1 Only that
instead of Eietz’s dry gravity he imagines an expression of
caustic humour on your face. I could not help laughing out-
right, and tried to trace a most vivid portrait of you, which
I am going to relieve by a few more touches in course of
time. The above and several other young people spent Christ-POSITION OF FANNY AND HENSEL.

165

mas-eve with us. Felix had written a charming children's
symphony1 on the same day, which was played twice with
general applause. A large BaumJcuchen was given to Dirichlet
(he is excessively fond of it). It was dressed as a lady, and
made him a declaration of love, which gave occasion for a
thousand jokes.

Felix is working and scheming at a variety of composition:
he is arranging Handel’s cantata of ‘Acis and Galatea.’ In
return, the academy is going to sing the c Passion ’ for him
and Devrient; it is to be sung in the course of the winter for
some charitable purpose, the purpose in this case being the
means and the means the purpose. Do you understand ? At
the same time the work will appear at Schlesinger’s, a number
of plates are already finished, and the year 1829 is likely to
form an epoch in the annals of music. Felix purposes finishing
a certain number of compositions before his departure, which
is settled for early spring. What shall I do without him ?

Wilhelm Hensel had come home from Italy in October 1828.
His position with regard to Fanny was a peculiar one. They
had known and loved one another as young people of twenty-
eight and seventeen. Since then they had not met for five
years, and impressions most various and powerful had acted on
the development of their minds. Direct communication had been
forbidden to them. He had passed that time in the sunny south
in contemplating and endeavouring to imitate the highest
perfection his art had ever attained ; she had developed from a
child into a young woman, in the most animated and intellectual
family circle. Now they met again, the man of thirty-three and
the maiden of twenty-two they were entirely changed from
what they were when they parted five years before ; but their
love and their desire of assimilating their different natures had
remained unchanged. He, in the zenith and maturity of man-
hood, looking back already on his best years of youth, now
longed with all his energy for the possession of what he had so
long desired; she, timid in the beginning, bashfully retreated

1 Felix therefore composed two children’s symphonies (see p. 161). Only
one has been preserved. No trace of the second has been found.LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

166

from before the man who by so long an absence had grown a
stranger to her, into the beloved circle of her parents, sister
and brothers, and friends. The parents, fully aware of the
approaching decisive moment when they would have to share
their child with another, did not perhaps receive the stranger
with their wonted kindness. The circle of friends, and the brother
himself, with the exclusiveness peculiar to that kind of harmo-
nious corporation, actually resisted the intruder, who was pur-
suing a prize which many a one of the friends may have secretly
coveted for himself. And on both sides faults had to be con-
quered. Hensel at first was dreadfully jealous—jealous of all
and everything, parents, sister, brothers, friends and acquaint-
ance, and even of Fanny’s art. He was a stranger in a circle
which, as is often the case, had introduced among its members
a variety of allusions and relationships both playful and serious,
and in consequence a sort of coterie-slang not intelligible to the
uninitiated. In such cases a stranger is intolerant, and feels
himself under a constraint; many of the jokes appear to him
stupid, he cannot enter into the others’ train of ideas. To
them again the stranger appears stiff and cold, and they button
themselves up against a new unaccustomed element. Many a
pointed arrow of wit is thrown at him, which the intruder
cannot ward off, because he only feels the edge long after it
had hit him. Fanny, on the other hand, was often capricious ;
she could not at once enter into his strange and grave train
of thoughts, and sometimes would only joke when he was in real
earnest. She had walked on the sunny heights of a life ignor-
ant of care, whilst he had struggled hard for existence. Through
his innate modesty depreciating his own value, and at the same
time ignoring the firm faithfulness of Fanny’s nature, he was not
without a fear that during the five long years of his absence one
or another of the more brilliant young friends of the family
might have taken his place in Fanny’s heart, and with a sus-
picious glance he at first scrutinised the whole circle. But this
could not last long. Each of them had an earnest desire to
understand the other, and thus all obstacles were soon removed.
Each had it at heart to be perfectly true to the other, and
wished for a lasting union ; concealment and outward appear-FANNY’S ENGAGEMENT.

167

ance were not in their nature. Fanny’s letters during the
engagement—which a kind fate has preserved to her son.
but which must be withheld from publicity—are of a truly
pathetic, heart-moving beauty. Every morning Hensel’s servant
came, bringing and taking back a short note of greeting, often
of serious purport: all the struggles of two conscientious natures
are reflected in them as in a mirror. Only her letters have
been preserved: with characteristic energy, she refuses to sacri-
fice her brother to the jealousy with which Hensel in the begin-
ning regarded her love for him, but she consents to give up her
friends and even her art. The claims of the present often dis-
turb her; but when she is alone in the quiet of night, alone
with the ideal image of her beloved, such as her mind’s eye was
wont to see it during the years of separation, she feels in harmony
with herself, and image and reality gradually become no longer
two but one. She never in her thoughts loses sight of that
letter of her father’s in which he calls the vocation of a house-
wife the only true aim and study of a young woman, and in
thinking of the man of her choice she earnestly devotes herself
to this aim. She strives to obtain a thorough insight into his
nature, and to do this, without ever yielding where her sense of
right was not convinced, she recognises as a wife’s indispens-
able duty. It is her constant task and endeavour to shape
two natures into one harmonious integrity, and to keep this in
accordance with her surroundings. Throughout these letters we
see her striving at the fulfilment of these precepts, this one
endeavour being, as it were, the ‘ red thread ’ that runs through
them all. And thus she succeeded—she obtained that he,
who would exclude all the rest of the world from her possession,
acknowledged the claim of other ties, and henceforward formed
a cherished link of her circle, loved above all by Fanny.

Hensel in his way strove as sedulously towards their common
aim. We have mentioned that none of his letters from this
period have been preserved, but it may be seen that in married
life he gave up quite as much of his individuality as Fanny did
of hers. He fully appreciated her high and noble qualities, and
left her full liberty. And here again, as during his stay in
Italy, his art became the bridge by which he passed over all168

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

obstacles and secured a place for himself in the hearts of all.
He had an especially powerful agent in a portrait he painted of
Felix, which was unanimously liked and appreciated, and had a
double value at a moment when Felix was on the eve of saying
goodbye to his parents’ house. In a diary of Fanny’s, complete
from January 1, 1829, to her death, and which forms our chief
source of information for the following period, she says : ‘Hensel
brought the sketch of Felix’s portrait, which shows a clear and
beautiful conception. Felix himself is quite charmed with it,
and I fancy he is very different towards Hensel since the
portrait was begun.’

Whilst by this portrait Hensel gave another proof of his
abilities for serious work, he also by a little sketch showed
himself a match for the witty coterie-tone prevailing in the
Mendelssohn circle. This little work of art is too characteristic
to be passed over. It is called ‘ The Wheel,’ an appellation given
by the initiated to the whole circle of the more intimate friends.
The artist took hold of this idea, and represented the whole
society as a real wheel. The nave or centre of the whole
is Felix, in a Scotch costume (in allusion to his intended
journey), and making music like another Arion listened to by
the Dolphins. The spokes are formed by Fanny and Rebecca—
embracing each other, with a sheet of music in their hands, and
ending below in fish-otters (this was a nickname Felix gave them)
—and a number of the friends of the family, two and two
together, with all sorts of attributes and costumes, alluding to
coterie-jokes. The wheel is thus firmly closed, shut up to the
rest of the world, relying on and relating to itself only. But
on the outside, attached to the wheel as it were like Ixion, and
fettered by a chain, the end of which is in Fanny’s hand, you
see a stranger about to swing himself into the wheel, Hensel
himself. This little symbolical description of the events of
the year 1829, charmingly conceived and charmingly executed,
could not fail to be successful. The wheel opened and received
Wilhelm Hensel.

The lovers were engaged on January 22, 1829, and this
betrothal and Felix’s approaching departure were the light and
dark threads out of which the tissue of the days were woven.THE PASSION-MUSIC.

169

Immediately after the engagement the rehearsals of Sebastian
Bach’s ‘ St Matthew’s Passion ’ began, the brilliant representa-
tion of which was Felix’s musical leave-taking from Berlin.
The profound masterpieces Bach and Beethoven had bequeathed
to posterity were a treasure hardly known at the time. Only
just then the most intelligent musical people began to compre-
hend that something must be done to bring this treasure to
daylight, and that this was in a musical point of view the
greatest task of the period. What appreciation such a task
found in the Mendelssohn circle we have already seen in
Fanny’s letters to Klingemann. Felix has devoted to it,
alongside of his own compositions, a life-long, earnest, and
conscientious pursuit, and the fact that Bach and Beethoven
are now known and appreciated by the German nation is in a
great degree his merit. For the present the great object was the
Passion-music, and relating to it Fanny gives the following
account to Klingemann, in a letter to which a few short extracts
from her diary are added:—

Berlin: March 22, 1829.

We are soon going to send you Felix. He has left himself
a beautiful memorial here by two crowded representations of
the ‘ Passion ’ for the benefit of the poor. What used to appear
to us as a dream, to be realised in far-off future times, has now
become real: the c Passion ’ has been given to the public, and is
everybody’s property. Before I can tell you more about it,
there are other subjects—Felix’s journey and my engagement;
and I really should not know in this throng of events how to
begin, if I made this at all a matter of reflection. So then.
Your last letter, in which, not guessing what has happened here,
you give us a minute description of all the misery and ridicule
of the affianced state, has amused us excessively, and I assure
you that your sarcasms did not touch us in the least. You
may believe my assurance, that we belong to the better class of
our order, and are not a nuisance to other people. Only ask
my brother and sister. Nor do I think it difficult to appear
merry when one is inwardly happy, and to behave decently when
one has been well brought up. I repeat it, I cannot compre-
hend those couples who are intolerably sentimental. I must170

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

not forego the pleasure I have in telling you that your letters
have acquired you the affection of Hensel, who formerly, like
all the rest of your far-off acquaintances, did not know you.
And last, not least, let me thank you for offering to become one
of my female friends, and accept my assurance that our friend-
ship will remain unchanged, as my speedy answer may show.
My memory, such a bad one for learning, is faithfully reten-
tive for all experiences in life, nor shall new ties or any decree
of fate make me forget the friends and companions of my happy
youth. Our correspondence, moreover, will gain a new impuke
by Felix’s visit to England. The prospect of his absence, as
you may well imagine, casts a deep shadow on this sunny
time of my life. I know that you love him for your own sake
and for his, but now you must love him even more, as he has
no one in England who has loved him ere this, and you will be
to him Alpha and Omega. I wish he may spend many a quiet
hour with you, when he may speak to you of olden times and
new moments, and the melodious presentiment of a time to
come. Try and get him such opportunities; or I would say, do not
divert him from conversation about home, but rather let him
dwell upon the subject. I know he will be often with us in his
thoughts, and with that peculiar moist sparkle of his eyes. To
this hour I do not know what I shall do without him, but all
will be mute and desolate, I fancy, and I should be ashamed of
my whole hitherto life if either engagement or marriage could
ward off the sense of that bereavement. Take good care of him,
and let him find one warm heart for the many he leaves behind!
And now pardon me for giving way to my feelings in this
manner. I know you do not feel less, but you hide it all by
irony. A beautiful keepsake we have of him, his portrait by
Hensel, three-quarter life-size, the likeness perfect—a truly
delightful, amiable picture. He is sitting on a garden bench
(the background formed by lilac-bushes in our garden), the
right arm reposing on the back of the bench, the left on his
knees, with uplifted fingers. The expression of his face and
the movement of his hands show that he is composing. But
now let me tell you about the 4 Passion.’

Felix and Devrient had been talking for a long time of theTHE PASSION-MUSIC.	171

possibility of a representation, but the plan had neither form
nor shape until one evening at our house they settled the affair,
and walked off the next morning in bran-new yellow kid gloves
(very important in their eyes) to the managers of the academy.
They very carefully minced the matter, and in all possible dis-
creetness put the question whether they might be allowed the
use of the concert-ball for a charitable purpose. In that case,
and as the music they were going to perform was likely to be
very successful, they offered to give a second performance for
the benefit of the academy. This the gentlemen declined with
thanks, and preferred to insist on a fixed payment of fifty
thalers, leaving the profits to the disposal of the concert-givers.
By-the-by, they are still ruminating over that reply of theirs!
Zelter made no objections, and the rehearsals began on the
Friday following. Felix went over the whole score, made a few
judicious cuts, and only instrumented the recitative, ‘And the
veil of the temple was rent in twain.’ Everything else was
left untouched. The people were astonished, stared, admired;
and when, after a few weeks, the rehearsals in the academy
itself commenced, their faces became very long with surprise
at the existence of such a work, about which they, the members
of the Berlin Academy, knew nothing. After having got over
their astonishment, they began to study with true, warm interest.
The thing itself, the novelty and originality of the form, took
hold of them, the subject was universally comprehensible and
engaging, and Devrient sang the recitatives most beautifully.
The genial spirit and enthusiasm evinced by all the singers
during the very first rehearsals, and which each new rehearsal
kindled to ever-increasing love and ardour; the delight and
surprise created by each new element—the solos, the orchestra,
Felix’s splendid interpretation and his accompanying the first
rehearsals at the piano from beginning to end by heart, all
these were moments never to be forgotten. Zelter, who had
lent his help at the first rehearsals, gradually retreated, and
during the later rehearsals, as well as at the concerts, with
praiseworthy resignation took his seat among the audience.
And now the members of the academy themselves spread such
a favourable report about the music, and such a general andLEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

172

vivid interest was created in all classes, that on the very day
after the first advertisement of the concert all the tickets were
taken, and during the latter days upwards of a thousand people
applied in vain. On Wednesday, March 10,1 the first representa-
tion took place, and excepting a few slight mistakes of the
solo-singers it may he called a perfect success. We were the
first in the orchestra. As soon as the doors were opened, the
people, who already had been long waiting outside, rushed into
the hall, which was quite full in less than a quarter of an hour.
I sat at the corner, where I could see Felix very well, and had
gathered the strongest alto-voices around me. The choruses
were sung with a fire, a striking power, and also with a touching
delicacy and softness the like of which I have never heard,
except at the second concert, when they surpassed themselves.
Taking for granted that you still remember its dramatic form,
I send you a textbook, just mentioning that the account of the
evangelist was sung by Stumer, the words of Jesus by Devrient,
of Peter by Bader, the High-priest and Pilate by Busolt, Judas
by Weppler. Mmes. Schatzel, Milder, and Tiirrschmiedt sang
the soprano and alto parts exquisitely. The room was crowded,
and had all the air of a church: the deepest quiet and most
solemn devotion pervaded the whole, only now and then involun-
tary utterances of intense emotion were heard. What is so
often erroneously maintained of such like undertakings truly
and fully applies to this one, that a peculiar spirit and general
higher interest prevaded the concert, that everybody did his
duty to the best of his powers, and many did more. Rietz,
for instance, who with the help of his brother and brother-in-law
had undertaken to copy the parts of all the different instruments,
refused all pay for himself and the other two. Most singers
declined accepting the tickets offered to them, or else paid
for them; so that for the first concert only six free tickets
were issued (of which Spontini had two), and for the second
none at all. Even before the first concert the many who had
not been able to gain admission raised a loud cry for a repe-
tition, and the industrial schools petitioned to subscribe; but
by this time Spontini was on the alert, and—with the greatest
1 It was really March 11.HEINE.

173

amiability—tried to prevent a second performance. Felix and
Devrient, however, took the straightest course, and procured an
order from the crown-prince, who from the beginning had taken
a lively interest in the enterprise, and so the concert was
repeated on Saturday, March 21, Bach’s birthday : the same
crowd, and a still greater audience, for the ante-room and the
small rehearsal-room behind the audience were added, and all
tickets sold. The choruses were perhaps still more exquisite
than the first time, the instruments splendid; only one sad mis-
take of Milder’s, and a few slight shortcomings in the solos, put
a damp on Felix’s spirits—but on the whole I may say that
better success could not be desired.

Heine is here, and I do not like him at all, he is so affected.
If he would let himself go, he would of all eccentric men be
the most amiable; or if in good earnest he would keep a tight
hand over himself, gravity also would become him, for he is
grave too. But he gives himself sentimental airs, is affectedly
affected, talks incessantly of himself, and all the while looks
at you to see whether you look at him. Have you, by the
way, met with his ‘Eeisebilder’ from Italy? They contain
delightful things; and though for ten times you may be
inclined to despise him, the eleventh time you cannot help con-
fessing that he is a poet, a true poet I How he manages the
words I What a feeling he has for nature, such as only a real
poet has I

I nearly forgot to thank you for concluding only from my
engagement card that I am but a woman like all the others.
I for my part have known this long ago, and also that a bride-
groom is no more than a man after all. But the way the lords
of creation remind us every day and all day of the weaknesses
of our sex, might make us disclaim and forget both our short-
comings and our privileges, which would only make the matter
worse.

Hensel is at present upon a life-size portrait (nearly the
whole figure) of Gans, who, a mixture of man, child, and savage
as he is, rejoices immensely to see himself on canvas. We
see him very often, and he has a great friendship for Rebecca,
upon whom he has even forced a Greek lesson, in which these174

LEIPZIGER STRASSE No. 3.

two learned persons read Plato. I do not know anything more
grotesque. It stands to reason that gossip will translate this
Platonic union into a real one, and the whole town talk of them
as an engaged couple, which of course is a thing not to be
thought of.

Now tell me whether there ever was a more gossiping
letter ! You said you must refrain from newspaper details in
your letter of congratulation ; but in your next do tell me the
opinion of London society about the Roman Catholic emancipa-
tion, of which the papers say nothing. I follow the movement
with eager interest. But what annoys me in this and politics
altogether is that the end of it is generally disappointment.
For months and months there is a vast hue and cry, and the
result is all but invisible. All news, however, is doubly inter-
esting when it comes from a country where one has a friend.
I, for my part, can never see the heading 4 London ’ without
conjecturing that I shall read your name among those of the
peers, or the petitioners against the Catholics, or in some other
character, and in return I give you credit for so much sym-
pathy that in reading the Berliner Zeitung you will expect
to find me decorated with the order of the Red Eagle or pro-
moted to the dignity of a Hofrath or Auctionscommisscirius.

A great number of highly interesting persons frequented the
house of the Mendelssohns during this period. Vol. VIII. of
Hensel’s portrait collection contains good likenesses of Heine,
Paganini, Mme. Milder, Ludwig Robert the poet, and his wife
Frederike Robert, celebrated for her beauty, and Hegel. Alex-
ander von Humboldt, who was then occupied with experiments
in magnetism, had arranged an observatory in the garden, on
account of the silence and quiet of the place, and thus he and
Professor Encke were almost daily, and also at times (when their
observations required it) nightly, among the visitors. A few
years later this brought, about a very amusing scene, of which
Fanny Hensel gives the following description :—

... I must tell you of a romantic adventure that hap-
pened here the other day. In the night I hear somebodyA NOCTURNAL ALARM.	175

entering our bedroom and passing out again at the other side.
I call—no answer. Wilhelm awakes, and cries out, ‘Who
(in the devil’s name) is there ? ’ Enter with majestic step
Louise,1 saying that she heard thieves rummaging about in the
hall and then going into the garden with a lantern. She had
thought it her duty to wake somebody, but had only wanted to
call the servant, and was very sorry for having disturbed us.
Wilhelm gets up, wraps himself in a red blanket, and goes
into the hall with a drawn sword, Louise in her dressing-gown
and night-cap showing him a light. He opened the door just
in time, for the thief with his lantern was on the point of
escaping towards the garden. When he heard the noise he looked
round, and seeing a naked sword ran away, Wilhelm after him.
The thief, however, must have been well acquainted with the
premises, for he made off straight to the gardener’s lodge.
When they were both in the gardener’s room they stopped, and
pursuer and pursued burst into a peal of laughter. ‘ Professor
Hensel! ’	‘ Professor Encke, I beg you a thousand pardons,

but I took you for a burglar, and my sister Louise took you
for a thief.’

How much Louise has been teased about her vigilance you
may imagine.

1 Hensel’s sister, then staying with them.FELIX IN ENGLAND.

On April 10, 1829, Felix started for England. His father and
Rebecca accompanied him as far as Hamburg, and thither
Fanny directed to him the following farewell letter : —

April 15, 1829.

Although we have only written yesterday, I feel as if I must
send you a few lines on the eve of your embarkation. Give
it what name you like, sentimentality or anything else, you
cannot call it worse, and I find a pleasure in glancing from our
quiet tete-a-tete into that varied life of yours. You cannot pos-
sibly at such a moment spare time for my contemplative mood ;
but never mind, it is an old saying, ‘ Everybody writes to him-
self.’ I write to myself.

When you receive this the watch-word will be, To-morrow
for England. I remember your saying one day that we are
apt to feel overpowered when somehow we hold an episode of
our life in our own hand. Such it seems at present. Is there in
the world any printer’s border to be compared to the uniting
and still so disuniting ocean ? The sea is the aquafortis, may
chemists say what they like. And to be on the other side of it
by yourself, so free and young, with your capacities and pro-
spects—a wonderful idea !

It is assuredly our special privilege, and a favour of heaven
we can never enough acknowledge, that you are you ; and may
it remain so.

Even if you have the spleen, like real John Bull, I know you
could not help laughing when I tell you that Mme. Milder
yesterday tried your aria with me in the back-room and is
enchanted with it, but that nevertheless I am to phrase it for her.FELIX'S ARRIVAL IN LONDON.

m

Can there be anything more foolish ? Ridiculous as I consider
such a request, I shall yet comply with it, as your handwriting
in the manuscript score shows how thoroughly sick you have
become of the matter.

I direct my letter to you, Rebecca, and in case it is not in
time to reach Felix you may do what you like with it.

A thousand loves to father from mother and me. Mother
has gone into the garden to look at the opening buds. We shall
have to enjoy all that without you (I mean Felix) now!

Felix.	London : April 21, 1829.

Dearest Father and dearest Rebecca,—Having just reached
London, the first thing I do is to send you word of my safe
arrival. Our passage was not good, and was very long, for we
only landed at the Custom-house to-day (Tuesday) at twelve
o’clock. From Saturday evening to Monday afternoon we had
contrary winds, and such a storm that all on board were ill. We
had once to stop for a while on account of a dense fog, and then
again in order to repair the engine; even last night at the
mouth of the Thames we were obliged to cast anchor to avoid
a collision with other ships. Fancy, moreover, that from Sun-
day morning to Monday evening I had one fainting fit after
another, from disgust with myself and everything about the
boat, cursing England, and particularly my own ‘ Meeresstille,’
and scolding the waiter with all my might. When on Monday
at noon I asked him if London was yet to be seen, he calmly
replied that before Tuesday at noon there was no chance of it.
But let me turn to the bright side and tell you of the moon-
light last night on the sea and the many hundreds of vessels
gliding round about us, of our sail up the Thames early this
morning between green meadows and smoky towns, of our run-
ning a race with twenty steamers, soon getting ahead of all the
others, and finally beholding the awful mass of London.

My ideas are still as incoherent as the last sentence, and I
only write this letter to tell you of my safe passage: do not
therefore expect anything further. I will at once write to
Berlin, as a post by Rotterdam gets there in four days. I must
also go to my lodgings (for here I am still sitting in Klinge-

vol. i.	N178

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

mann’s room, who is prevented by business from sending his

me; jl must eat sumo winner, nor navmg done so ior inree days
(oh, I am so wretched!); I must be shaved; in short, I must
be made to look human again. Meanwhile, goodbye.

It is fearful! It is maddening! I am quite giddy and
confused. London is the grandest and most complicated mon-
ster on the face of the earth. How can I compress into one
letter what I have been three days seeing ? I hardly remember
the chief events, and yet I must not keep a diary, for then
I should see less of life, and that must not be. On the
contrary, I want to catch hold of whatever offers itself to me.
Things -roll and whirl round me and carry me along as in a
vortex. Not in the last six months at Berlin have I seen so
many contrasts and such variety as in these three days. Could
you but once, turning to the right from my lodging, walk down
Regent Street and see the wide bright street with its arcades
(alas! it is enveloped in a thick fog to-day!), and the shops
with letters as big as men, and the stage-coaches piled up with
people, and a row of vehicles outrun by the foot-passengers
because in one place the smart carriages have stopped the way !
Here a horse prances to a house where its rider has friends.
There you see men used as ambulating advertisement-boards on
which the most graceful achievements of accomplished cats are
promised. Then there are beggars, negroes, and those fat John
Bulls with their slender, beautiful two daughters hanging on
their arms. Ah, those daughters! However, do not be alarmed,
there’s no danger in that quarter, neither in Hyde Park, so rich
in ladies, where I drove about yesterday in a fashionable way
with Mme. Moscheles, nor in the concerts, nor in the opera (I
have been to all these places already) ; only at the corners and
crossings there is danger, and there I sometimes say to myself
softly, in a well-known voice, ‘ Take care lest you get run over.’
Such a whirl, such a roar! But I will become historical, and
quietly relate my doings, else you will learn nothing about me.

ma

Felix.

London : April 25, 1829.LONDON, AND LODGINGS.

179

Could you but see me at the exquisite grand-piano which
dementis have sent me for the whole time of my stay here, by
the cheerful fireside in my own four walls, with shoes and gray
filigree stockings and olive-coloured gloves (for I am just going
out to pay a visit), and could you see the immense four-post bed
in the next room, in which I might go to sleep in the most literal
sense of the word, the many-coloured curtains and quaint fur-
niture, my breakfast tea with dry toast still before me, the
servant girl in curl-papers who has just brought me my newly
hemmed black necktie, and asks what further orders I have,
whereupon I try at a polite backward nod, a VAnglaise, and
could you but see the highly respectable, fog-enveloped street
and hear the pitiable voice with which a beggar down there
pours forth his ditty (he Will soon be outscreamed by the street
sellers), and could you picture to yourselves that from here to
the City is three quarters of an hour’s drive, and that in all the
cross streets of which one has glimpses the noise, clamour, and
bustle are the same, if not greater, and that after that one has
only traversed about a quarter of London, then you might
understand how it is that I am half distracted. However, let
me be historical.

After I had sent off my last invalid letter to you, Klinge-
mann took me at once to an English coffee-house (everything
is English here), where of course I read the Times, and in my
true Berlin way looked first for the theatrical news, and saw
that ‘ Otello ’ and the first appearance of Mme. Malibran
were announced for that very night. In spite of weariness and
the feeling of sea-sickness still about me, I resolved to go.
Klingemann lent me the necessary gray stockings, as I could
not find mine in the hurry, and yet had to appear in full dress,
with a black cravat, like all the rest of the genteel world.
Then I went to my lodgings, and from there to the Italian opera,
King’s Theatre, where I got a seat in the pit (half a guinea)—a
large house, decorated with crimson, six tiers of boxes with
crimson curtains, out of which peep the ladies, bedecked with
great white feathers, chains, jewels of all kinds. An odour of
pomade and perfume assails you as you enter, which gave me a
headache : in the pit all the gentlemen, with fresh-trimmedi8o

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

whiskers, the house crowded, the orchestra very good, conducted
by a Signor Spagnoletti (in December I will give you an imitation
of him which will make you die of laughter). Donzelli (Otello),
a bravura performer ingeniously ornamental, shouts and forces
his voice tremendously, almost constantly sings a little too high,
but with no end of hautgout (for instance, in the last passionate
scene, where Malibran screams and raves almost disagreeably,
instead of shouting the recitatives, as he usually does, he drops
his voice, so that the last bars are scarcely audible). Mme.
Malibran is a young woman, beautiful and splendidly made,
her hair en toupet, full of fire and power, very coquettish, set-
ting off her performance partly with very clever embellishments
of her own invention, partly with imitations from Pasta (it
impressed me strangely to see her take the harp and sing the
whole scene exactly like Pasta, and copy her also in that vaguely
floating passage which I am sure you, dear father, must re-
member). She plays beautifully, her attitudes are good, and
it is only a pity she should so often exaggerate and then nearly
touch the ridiculous and disagreeable. However, I shall con-
stantly go to hear her—only not to-morrow, when 4 Otello ’ is
to be repeated. This I only wish to hear again when Sontag
appears in it: she is daily expected. Levasseur, by-the-by,
is something of a 4 beer-bass,’ and Curioni a 4 semi-beer-tenor,’
and yet they were furiously applauded, with hands and feet.
After the second act came a long divertissement, with gym-
nastics and absurdities just as with us, that went on till half
past eleven o’clock. I was almost tired to death, but held out
till a quarter to one, when Malibran was despatched, panting
and screaming disagreeably. Then I had had enough of it, and
so went home. But it must have been long before the theatre
was over, for after the play was to come the celebrated ballet
4 La Sonnambule.’ I had always to catch a firm hold of my
seat, because I felt as if the whole house were swinging to and
fro; nor did this giddy sensation leave me until yesterday, and
last night for the first time it did not disturb my sleep. On the
day after 4 Otello,’ when I was still fast asleep, a soft hand
touched me very gently, and that could only be Moscheles, whoMALIBRAN. THE MOSCHELES’.

181

sat by my bed for about an hour, giving me all possible infor-
mation.

For the manner in which Moscheles and his wife behave to
me I cannot find any expression. Whatever can be agreeable,
profitable, honourable for me, they know how to procure.
Yesterday morning, in spite of his overwhelming business, he
drove about with me to Latour’s, Cramer’s, dementis’, Neu-
komm’s; and when last night I was obliged to play my violoncello
variations at his house, and had not quite finished copying the
parts, he copied the remaining half whilst I was out at dinner.
Mme. Moscheles took me yesterday in her elegant carriage
to Hyde Park: to-day she will show me Eegent’s Park in the
same way. Think of me in a cabriolet, taking a drive with a
lady I—me, in my new suit, of course. Then she drove me to
Biilow’s, and when I had finished my long visit and came down,
she was waiting for me in the carriage, saying that I could not
find my way alone. In short, they are both of them kindness
itself.

May 1, 1829.

I am in very good health : London life suits me excellently.
I think the town and the streets quite beautiful. ( Again I was
struck with awe when yesterday I drove in an open carriage
to the City, along a different road, and everywhere found the
same flow of life, everywhere green, red, yellow bills stuck on
the houses from top to bottom, or gigantic letters painted on
them, everywhere noise and smoke, everywhere the end of the
streets lost in fog. Every few moments I passed a church, or
a market-place, or a green square, or a theatre, or caught a
glimpse of the Thames, on which the steamers can now go right
through the town under all the bridges, because an invention
has been made for letting down the large funnels, in the way
masts are lowered. Last not least, to see the masts from the
West India Docks stretching their heads over the housetops, and
to see a harbour as big as the Hamburg one treated like a mere
pond, with sluices, and the ships arranged not singly but in
rows, like regiments—to see all that makes one’s heart rejoice
at the greatness of the world.182

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

The other day I went to see Dr. Spurzheim’s phrenological
cabinet, shown by a young physician. A set of murderers placed
in contrast with a set of musicians interested me highly, and
my belief in physiognomy received strong confirmation ; indeed,
the difference between Gluck’s forehead and that of a parricide
is very striking, and does away with all doubt. But when people
want to enter into minute detail and show me where Gluck
had his bump of music and where that of the inventive power,
or exactly where the philosophy is lodged in Socrates’s skull,
that is very precarious, and in my eyes unscientific, although it
may lead to such most interesting results as the following. A
beautiful young English lady who was there desired to know
whether she had a propensity for stealing or any other crime,
and it ended in a phrenological examination of the whole party
present. One was pronounced good-natured, another fond of
children, this lady courageous, that lady avaricious ; and as the
aforesaid young creature had to undo her long fair hair and
allow the doctor to feel the bumps, and looked very beautiful
with her hair loose and when tying it up again before the glass,
I gave three cheers for phrenology, and warmly praised every-
thing concerning it. That I possessed a taste for music and
some imagination was obvious : the doctor found afterwards that
I was rather covetous, loved order and little children, and
liked flirting; music, however, he declared to be predomin-
ant. On Tuesday I am to have a plaster mask taken of my
whole head, face and all, and then I will control Hensel’s
likeness.

London : May 15, 1829.

On Monday evening, ball in Devonshire House at the Duke
of Devonshire’s; magnificence reminding me of the Arabian
Nights; all that riches, luxury, and taste for the beautiful can
procure and invent accumulated there. With my hackney
coach I got into the file of carriages that extended almost all
along Piccadilly, therefore I preferred to get out and walk up
to the house. I entered the drawing-room, where the Duke
courteously received his guests. Behind me on the stairs I
heard people coming up ; but I did not look round, and now IDEVONSHIRE HOUSE.

183

perceived, awe-struck, that they were Wellington and Peel. In
the principal dancing-room, instead of a hanging lustre there
was a thick broad wreath of red roses, about fourteen feet in
diameter, which appeared to float in the air, as the thin threads
that held it up were carefully hidden; upon it were burning
hundreds of little lights. The walls were covered with portraits,
life-size and full length, by Vandyck ; all along the walls there
was an estrade, on which sat the mammas, excessively orna-
mented with diamonds, pearls, and all kinds of jewels ; in the
middle of the room were the lovely girls dancing, some of them
quite heavenly for beauty; an orchestra with its own director
made the music. Beyond this was a suite of other rooms, the
walls of which were covered with Titians, Corregios, Lionardos,
and Dutch paintings. To move among these beautiful pictures
and lovely living forms, and to wander about in all that flow of
life and universal excitement, perfectly quiet and unknown, and,
unnoticed and unseen, to notice and to see—it was one of the
most charming nights I remember. A portrait of a young
man by Titian and one of a young woman by Lionardo made a
deep impression on me. Nowhere in the whole palace did I
find anything imperfect or inharmonious; the library was
open, and books of art lay on the tables; a little conservatory
opened out of the dancing-room, and spread a cool and fragrant
atmosphere! Abundance of fruit of all seasons was heaped
on the buffets. It was amusing to see the young noblemen
making love to the ladies and waltzing abominably, and to
see ladies sitting on tables and gentlemen lying on the sofas,
their feet up and at full length, whilst keeping up a' tender
conversation!

I was yesterday at a similar grand fete at the Marquis of
Lansdowne’s. Poor man, he had opened his sculpture gallery,
and received his guests there; a large vaulted room, with a
rotunda, lighted from above at both ends ; in the rotunda there
are crimson niches, in each of which stands a large gray antique
statue frowning down. At their feet sat the old ladies in a
semicircle, and in the middle of the saloon people thronged
hither and thither. In the adjoining room was exhibited a
newly purchased landscape by Claude Lorraine, representing the184

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

rising sun over a sea-port. The stairs are so constructed that
one can see them all the way up to the roof, as in the Hamburg
houses, and they were lavishly decorated with flowers, out of
which appeared recumbent statues. A thousand details I will
some day tell you when I come home: I shall not forget them,
for everything appeared to me so new and admirable that it
made a deep impression, not easily to be effaced. That such
magnificence could really exist in our time I had not believed.
These are not parties—they are festivals and celebrations.

London : May 26, 1829.

When I entered the Argyll Rooms for the rehearsal of my
symphony and found the whole orchestra assembled and about
two hundred listeners, chiefly ladies, strangers to me, and when,
first, Mozart’s symphony in E flat major was rehearsed, after
which my own was to follow, 1 felt not exactly afraid but nervous
and excited. During the Mozart pieces I took a little walk in
Regent Street and looked at the people; when I returned, every-
thing was ready and waiting for me. I mounted the orchestra
and pulled out my white stick, which I have had made on
purpose (the maker took me for an alderman, and would insist
on decorating it with a crown). The first violin, Francois
Cramer, showed me how the orchestra was placed—the furthest
rows had to get up so that I could see them—and introduced
me to them all, and we bowed to each other ; some perhaps
laughed a little, that this small fellow with the stick should
now take the place of their regular powdered and bewigged
conductor. Then it began. For the first time it went very
well and powerfully, and pleased the people much even at
rehearsal. After each movement the whole audience and the
whole orchestra applauded (the musicians showing their approval
by striking their instruments with their bows and stamping
their feet); after the finale they made a great noise, and as I
had to make them repeat it, because it was badly played, they
set up the same noise once more; the directors came to me in
the orchestra, and I had to go down and make a great many
bows. Cramer was overjoyed, and loaded me with praise and
compliments. • I walked about on the orchestra, and had toPHILHARMONIC CONCERT.

185

shake at least two hundred different hands. It was one of the
happiest moments within my recollection, for one half-hour had
transformed all those strangers into friends and acquaintances.
But the success at the concert last night was beyond what I
could ever have dreamed. It began with the symphony; old
Francois Cramer led me to the piano like a young lady, and
I was received with immense applause. The adagio was en-
cored—I prefered to bow my thanks and go on, for fear of tiring
the audience; but the scherzo was so vigorously encored that
I felt obliged to repeat it, and after the finale they continued
applauding, while I was thanking the orchestra and shaking
hands, and until I had left the room. . . .

Fanny to Klingemann.

Berlin : June 4, 1829.

. . . You will not misunderstand me when I tell you
that Felix’s success has neither surprised, dazzled, nor confounded
me, and that altogether as regards him I have an almost silly
belief in predestination. Be that as it may, such letters as
his of -yesterday and yours of to-day give me an indescribable
pleasure, and with a similar sensation do I perceive that you
fondle and spoil him to exactly the extent that I desire, and as
I requested you to do (if I remember rightly, in rather a senti-
mental letter). Here comes again a little request: Felix will
receive by the next courier a parcel containing love-tokens and
sentimental keepsakes; be so kind and carry it to him your-
self, and take care that it find him in good humour ; and should
a copyist or a fly just then have vexed him, better keep it till
some better day. Ah, dear Klingemann, the more you feel and
enjoy his presence and the life he carries wherever he goes, the
more you can understand how keenly we feel the void; and
the more we beg you to write very often, for your letters are
food to the hungry, and as it hurts us to hear those slighted
whom we love, so we feel invigorated and happy at our beloved
ones being judged fondly. May our own persuasion be ever so
strong, we relish that of other people.FELIX IN ENGLAND.

186

Felix to the Family.

June 7, 1829.

. . . On Saturday I was to play at a concert, and I had
never yet tried the strange new Clementi grand-piano which
the firm had sent for my use. I went into the empty concert-
room, where my symphony had been performed, and which
now echoed with every footstep, and I felt a little moved. The
piano was locked; the key had to be sent for, but did not come.
Meanwhile I sat down to the old gray instrument, on which the
fingers of several generations may have played, meaning to
practise my piece thoroughly, but I fell unawares into strange
fantasies, and dwelt on them until people began to come in and
remind me that I ought to have been studying—only the large
hall made me think of something else—in short, the concert
hour (two o’clock) approached, and I had never touched the
instrument. However, I kept up my spirits, and put myself
into grande toilette (for Becky’s journal of fashions : very long
white trousers, brown silk waistcoat, black neck-tie, and blue
dress coat). When I mounted the orchestra and found it quite
filled with ladies, who had not been able to find a place in
the room, and when I saw the room fuller than it ever had
been, so many gay ladies’ bonnets, and the fearful heat, and
the unknown instrument, a panic came over me, and up to
the moment when I went on I felt exceedingly nervous, I
think even feverish. But as the gay bonnets gave me a nice
reception and applauded when I came in, as they were very
attentive and quiet (which with this talkative concert public is
a rare thing), and as I found the instrument very excellent and
of a light touch, I lost all my timidity, became quite comfort-
able, and was highly amused to see the bonnets agitated at every
little cadenza, which to me and many critics brought to mind
the simile of the wind and the tulip-hed; and I noticed that
some ladies in the orchestra were very handsome, and that Sir
George, on whom I cast a feeling glance, took a pinch of snuff.
It went pretty well, and they applauded greatly when it was
over; also the Times, which I read over my tea in the morn-TWO BROWN EYES.

187

ing, has bestowed much praise on me (Paul might go with
Rietz to Stehely’s and read the said Times of Monday, June 1,
and I promise him sixpence for it on my return). I was
immensely pleased to find that the public here is good to me
and likes me, and that I owe a great many more acquaintances
to my music than to my letters of introduction, which really
were powerful and numerous enough—in short, I was very
happy on Saturday; and at the dinner-party to which I after-
wards went I became intoxicated, but only from the effect of
two very wonderful brown eyes, such as the world has never yet
seen, or not often. To describe or praise them is unnecessary,
for if they please you I shall be jealous par distance, and if
they do not please you I shall be vexed—that, however, is im-
possible. The lady next to me had the said brown eyes, and
they are wondrously beautiful, and their name is Louise, and
their owner spoke English and retired at dessert, whereupon I
immediately drank claret, as I had nothing more to see. I
had to be off into the country, found no carriage, and was
obliged to walk in the cool of the evening ; many musical ideas
came into my mind, which I sang out loud to myself, for I went
a lonely path through meadows, and met no one; the whole
sky was gray, with a purple streak on the horizon, and the thick
cloud of smoke behind me. As soon as I find some quiet,
either here or in Scotland, I will write various things, and the
Scottish bagpipe shall not exist in vain. That night I remained
in the country, and then drove with Gr. on a fresh damp tnorn-
ing to Richmond in a little cabriolet. The way goes over the
suspension-bridge, through villages with houses covered with
roses instead of vines, so that the fresh flowers on the smoky
walls have a strange effect. In Richmond, on a hill which
commands a view of the immeasurable green plain studded with
trees, close at hand, bright, warm, green, and (not a thousand
yards off) blue, hazy, and fading away; and where you see
Windsor on one side, and London on the other in a misty
cloud, there we laid ourselves down and spent our Sunday very
quietly and solemnly. I have been intrusted with a commis-
sion, and you will laugh immensely when you hear what it is.
It gives mo great pleasure, as it is quite unique, and possibleFELIX IN ENGLAND.

188

only in London. I am to compose a festival song for a cele-
bration which is to take place in—Ceylon ! The natives some
time ago were emancipated, and intend keeping the anniversary
of the event, and are to sing a song on the occasion; and Sir
Alexander Johnston, the governor of Ceylon, has given me the
order. It is really very mad and droll; and for two whole days I
have laughed at it to myself.

London: June 19, 1829.

There are pictures here such as the world has never seen.
An art exhibition has just been opened entirely composed of
contributions from private owners, and these divine creations
are assembled in three saloons. I cannot give you an idea of
the sight. Eubens has painted the Tribute Money, and Titian
his young daughter. How many thoughts must have crossed
the old fellow’s mind as that fair child stood before him, so
graceful and erect, and in such handsome and nonchalant attire,
holding an apple in her hand and thinking of nothing particular!
There are two glorious pieces of Vandyck, and a lot of Eem-
brandts, Murillos, Kuisdaels, and Claudes. Delightful I Titian
has so embodied Ignatius Loyola that one feels Koman Catholic
in gazing at him, he looks out of the picture so gloomy and
grave. And Eubens’s 4 Jews ’ are like bears and wolves let
loose.

Good-bye. On Wednesday I shall, to the dismay of all
musicians, play Beethoven’s concerto in E flat. I’ve have
enough of that dry tone—and must play Beethoven once
again.

London : June 25, 1829.

I long for you all, and to-day especially. It is summer,
and the season is coming to an end. This is the first evening I
have spent alone in my room, and I will employ it in holding
a congress with you. Outside the people are walking and
whistling tunes from 4 Masaniello ’ and 4 Freischiitz,’ and the
carriages in Eegent Street making a desperate noise. You are
sitting in the sofa-corners; I wedge myself between, and now
for it. My diary will follow on the next page. First of all,KEMBLE IN 1 HAMLET:

189

what is your opinion of the programme for the silver wedding
in December ? Send me your ideas about it by return of post;
if it is not to turn out at least as splendid as your imperial en-
trance procession, I shall at once resign and take no part in it.
I give my humble opinion for a grand piece of music with new
Scotch compositions, in which you, 0 eldest otter, must join
(hear, hear! cheers; hurrah; order, order!). Braharn ought to
sing an aria, and Neate play a concerto; nothing, hy-the-by,
can be done without a comedy, a masquerade, a dinner-party,
and a ball (‘ hear ! ’ on the left). Although I approve of quiet
weddings, silver weddings must he noisy. If you want a steam-
engine for it, I can send it you through the legation: the
expense is trifling, as a steam-engine for the construction of
steam-engines has just been invented here. Or shall we present
father with a little East Indiaman ? Or shall we by way of
surprise have the yard paved or macadamised ? Fancy! ‘ If
instead of twenty such stupid proposals somebody had but a
single sensible one ! ’ Well, then, do make proposals, ye people!
Write me a regular hand-bill with a, 6, c and 1, 2, 3; in short,
a systematic programme. I am hatching great things, but can-
not talk about them to-day, for I am so tired that you would
feel obliged to lead me across the yard and then bid me go away
from the open window ; it is from dancing.

In the evening I went with Eosen, Miihlenfels, and Klinge-
mann to Covent Garden : ‘ Hamlet.’ I believe, children, that
he was right who said that the English sometimes do not
understand Shakespeare. At least this representation was extrava-
gant; and yet Kemble played Hamlet, and in his way played him
well. But, alas I that way is crazy, and ruins the whole piece. His
appearing, for instance, with one yellow and one black leg, to in-
dicate madness, his falling before the ghost in order to strike an
attitude, his screaming out the end of every little phrase in that
regular applause-exacting high tone of his, his behaving alto-
gether like a John Bull Oxford student, and not like a Danish
crown prince, all that might pass. But that he should not the
least enter into poor Shakespeare’s intention as to killing the
king, and therefore coolly skip that scene where the king prays
and Hamlet comes in and goes out again without having made190

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

up his mind for the deed (to my taste one of the finest passages
of the piece), and that he constantly behaves like a bravado,
treating the king in such a way that he deserves to be shot
down at once, for instance during the play on the stage threaten-
ing him with his fist and shouting into his ear the words that
he should have quietly dropped—these are things not to be
pardoned. Of course Laertes and Hamlet do not jump into
Ophelia’s tomb and wrestle there, for they never guess why they
should do so: and at the end, when Hamlet falls down and
says, ‘The rest is silence,’ and I expected a flourish and F01-
tinbras, Horatio actually leaves the prince, hastily comes for-
ward to the lamps, and says, ‘ Ladies and gentlemen, to-morrow
evening “ The Devil’s Elixir.” ’ Thus ended ‘ Hamlet ’ in
England. Of what they skip or abridge one might make a
tragedy in itself: the instructions of Polonius; the leave-taking
of Laertes from Ophelia, half of a monologue of Hamlet, etc.,
never appear. Some things however they gave excellently, for
instance the grave-digger scene. The old clown made wonder-
fully coarse jests, and sang his song in the grave unmusically
and very, very beautifully. Ophelia too in her madness once
sang quite madly; whilst the others were talking she murmured
a low melody ; the fencing and changing of rapiers, too, was
done very cleverly. But what is all that? There is little
poetry in England. Really!

London : July 10, 1829.

. . . What has of late occupied me almost exclusively is
the concert for the Silesians; as regards the choice of the
pieces, it will no doubt be the most brilliant of the season;
whoever has at all created a sensation in the season will co-
operate, most of them gratuitously; many offers of good per-
formers have necessarily been declined, as the concert with-
out them will last till the next day. Klingemann will send you
the immense programme ; it is really interesting. My overture
to the ‘ Midsummer-night’s Dream ’ will form the beginning, by
request, and then I shall play the double concerto in E with
Moscheles. Yesterday we had a first trial in dementi’s piano
manufactory. Mrs. Moscheles and Mr. Collard were our audi-DUET WITH MOSCHELES.

191

ence. It was great fun; no one has an idea how Moscheles
and I coquetted together on the piano, how the one constantly
imitated the other, and how sweet we were. Moscheles plays
the last movement with wonderful brilliancy, the runs dropped
from his fingers like magic. When it was over, all said it was
a pity that we had made no cadenza, so I at once hit upon a
passage in the first part of the last tutti, where the orchestra
has a pause, and Moscheles had nolens volens to comply and
compose a grand cadenza. We now deliberated, amid a thou-
sand jokes, whether the last small solo should remain in its
place, since of course the people would applaud the cadenza.
‘We must have a bit of tutti between the cadenza and the
solo,’ said I. ‘ How long are they to clap their hands ? ’
asked Moscheles. ‘ Ten minutes, I dare say,’ said I. Moscheles
beat me down to five. I promised to supply a tutti, and so
we took the measure, embroidered, turned and padded, put in
sleeves a la Mameluke, and at last with our mutual tailor-
ing we produced a brilliant concerto. We shall have another
rehearsal to-day: it will be quite a picnic, for Moscheles brings
the cadenza and I the tutti. To-morrow at two, the great
instrumental rehearsal is to come off; after that I have a treat
in prospect. I am invited to dinner by a Mr. Eichmond with
many daughters, who lives at Stamford Hill, a green village,
full of trees, gardens, and roses. Rosen and Miihlenfels are
also going. As we are to breakfast with other acquaintances
in the same place on Sunday morning, we have resolved to
stay over-night at the village inn, go into the fields in the
morning, and astonish the people by our early appearance.
This plan will be carried out, and we shall behave ourselves in
an excessively grand and right London manner in our tavern.

Saturday is the day of universal leave-taking, and starting
for all the four corners of the world. Klingemann and I shall
wend our way northwards, Rosen to the Rhine, and Miihlenfels
—to Berlin. Yes, yes! He will see you sooner than I. Pray
love him and be kind to him! When I tell you that he chiefly
has filled up or made less sensible the gap that arises from q
first isolation and want of familiar intercourse, a gap that is
even increased by parties and distracting gaieties; when you192

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

hear that to him especially I owe that healthy and happy feeling
which hitherto has rarely left me even in the greatest noise and
whirl, I am sure you will be glad to see him and show him kind-
ness. He is a sturdy, hearty, excellent fellow. He will tell you
many jolly anecdotes of our London time, for we are rich in
them. We shall soon separate now, and have promised each
other to make the most of the few days we shall yet be together.
The other day we three walked home from a highly diplomatic
dinner-party at Billow’s, having had our fill of fashionable
dishes, sayings, and doings. We passed a very enticing sausage
shop, in which ‘ German sausages, twopence each ’ were laid out
for show. Patriotism overcame us, each bought a long sausage,
we turned into where it was quieter, Portland Street, and
there consumed our purchases, Eosen and I being hardly able,
for laughing, to join in the three-part songs of which Miihlenfels
would sing the bass. Both of them had closed their lectures
that same day, and had therefore nothing to apprehend. Eosen
sometimes became quite wild.

The year 1829 was remarkable for misery of various kinds
from natural catastrophes. The Dantzig neighbourhood and
Silesia were heavily afflicted. Nathan, Moses Mendelssohn’s
youngest son, who lived in Silesia, had written to his brother
Abraham about the wretchedness existing there, and the latter
had communicated the intelligence to Felix in London. Thus
originated the concert for the Silesians, the rehearsal of which
has been already mentioned ; and the result Felix describes in
the following letter to Nathan :—

London : July 16, 1829.

Dear Uncle,—It is long since I wrote to you, and so much
the more gladly do I embrace the present opportunity of send-
ing you good and pleasant news. Your country-people have
to thank your letter to my father, in which you describe the
misfortune caused by rain and floods, for a very considerable
pecuniary aid, which will in a few weeks reach its destination
through the embassy. I cannot tell you how heartily glad I am
that they owe it first of all to your letter, and that I also had anSO NT AG.

193

opportunity of helping. It happened thus : Sontag had after a
great deal of persuasion promised to give a concert in May for
the Dantzigers, but she did not appear to relish it very much, for
she put it off till June, then till July, and finally, when her
benefit turned out so badly that she was a loser by it, she gave
up the whole idea. I was sorry for it, went to see her several times,
spoke to her homme d’affaires and her lady companion—for she
is surrounded by quite a little court, and admission to her pre-
sence is rarely given. Both declared themselves so decidedly
averse, and became at last so impolite, that I went away with
the intention of never returning. On the following day I received
a letter from my parents containing a copy of yours, and I
know not how it was, but I swore to myself that it should and
would go, and that a concert must be given. A recollection
started in my mind that you once lent me money for the
bellows-blower at Reinerz, and would not take it back, first
saying that my music had given you eight groschen’s worth
of pleasure, and then seriously adding that if some day I earned
money by my playing I could give the amount to the poor. I
also remembered how happy we were together at that time,
and many other things, and forthwith ran off to Mme. Sontag,
was not to be denied, refused to see the homme d’affaires and
dame de compagnie, assailed her vigorously, assured her she
must now give a concert, as it had been put in the Staats-
zeitung, and that the Silesians were in much greater want than
the Dantzigers—in short, she resolved to undertake it. She
alone, with her extensive connections, and in such favour with
all classes, could venture to announce to the English a concert
for the beneht of foreigners at a moment when the misery in
London is so enormous, and when no one knows how to relieve
it. Everything appeared against it: the musicians, taking into
account the advanced season, prophesied an empty room, and
some of them behaved very frigidly and unkindly, and urged
that the expense was not likely to be covered. But I persisted,
the concert was announced, many of the nobility accepted the
patronage, all the great singers had to sing gratuitously honoris
causa, many instrumental performers were under obligation to
Sontag, many did it for my sake, not a name that had at all
vol. 1.	0194

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

distinguished itself in the season was wanting on the programme,
and on a sudden the thing became fashionable. From that
moment the good result was secured, the whole town spoke of
it. When I passed the Argyle Eooms (also given gratuitously)
an hour before the beginning of the concert last Monday, and
saw the crowd of people, all those strange faces streaming and
thronging in, and when afterwards I mounted the orchestra and
found it all filled with beautiful ladies in elegant dress, all the
boxes filled, the very ante-rooms full of people, I was indescrib-
ably happy and joyful, and only regretted that there was no
larger concert room in London, for about a hundred people were
refused. The receipts amounted to between two hundred and
fifty and three hundred guineas, which have been transmitted
to the Prussian ambassador, and through him will be sent to
Silesia. English people could not guess how the thing had
been brought about. It was stated in the programme that
Sontag had received letters and requests from many high
persons in her country: those were you. The Times even
hinted that the King of Prussia had applied to Sontag: that
was you again. The invitations for patronage were accom-
panied by vivid descriptions of the state of desolation, verbally
translated from the account of an eye-witness: again you. In
a word, we have blown the trumpet well, and to good purpose.
The concert was unquestionably the best of the whole year;
there was no time for an aria, many singers could only appear
in quartets, etc., and nevertheless the concert lasted nearly
four hours. Sontag sang six times, Drouet played his flute,
Moscheles and I played a concerto of mine for two pianos;
my overture to £ Midsummer-night’s Dream ’ was also per-
formed, etc.

Enough of this: the best thing is that it has been a
success. Pray, dear uncle, write me some lines: my father
will send them to the Scotch Highlands, whither I shall go
in a few days. Tell me of yourself and of all your family,
how you get on, and whether Arnold has still a taste for music
and cultivates it. Give them all my best love, and think kindly
of me. Farewell!—Yours,

Felix Mendelssohn Bahtholdy.EDINBURGH.

195

P.S.—Forgive me that my letter contains nothing but
concert, concert, concert. It is the newest interest, and has
occupied me very much, and the pen flows over when the heart
is full. Ever since the matter began to be talked of I have
looked forward to the pleasure of writing you this letter, and
now here it is.

The letters to the Berlin family are likewise full of it.
The following episode must not remain unnoticed:—

July 17, 1829.

. . . The concert for the Silesians was splendid, the best of
the season; ladies peeped out from behind the double basses
when I came on to the orchestra; the Johnston ladies, who had
strayed between the bassoons and the French horns, sent to ask
me whether they were likely to hear well; one lady sat on a
kettledrum. Madames Rothschild and K. Antonio accommo-
dated themselves on benches in the ante-room; in short, the
affair was extremely brilliant.

Edinburgh : July 28, 1829.

It is Sunday when we arrive in Edinburgh ; then we
cross the meadows, going towards two desperately steep rocks,
which are called Arthur’s Seat, and climb up. Below on the
green are walking the most variegated people, women, chil-
dren, and cows; the city stretches far and wide; in the midst is
the castle, like a bird’s nest on a cliff; beyond the castle come
meadows, then hills, then a broad river; beyond the river
again hills; then a mountain rather more stern, on which
towers Stirling Castle ; then blue distance begins ; further on
you perceive a faint shadow, which they call Ben Lomond.
All this is but one half of Arthur’s Seat; the other is simple
enough, it is the great blue sea, immeasurably wide, studded
with white sails, black funnels, little insects of skiffs, boats,
rocky islands, and such like. Why need I describe it ? When
God Himself takes to panorama-painting, it turns out strangely
beautiful. Few of my Switzerland reminiscences can compare196

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

to this; everything here looks so stern and robust, half enve-
loped in haze or smoke or fog; moreover, there is to be a
bagpipe-competition to-morrow; many Highlanders came in
costume from church, victoriously leading their sweet-
hearts in their Sunday attire, and casting magnificent and
important looks over the world; with long red beards, tartan
plaids, bonnets and feathers, naked knees, and their bagpipes
in their hands, they passed quietly along by the half-ruined
gray castle on the meadow, where Mary Stuart lived in
splendour and saw Kizzio murdered. I feel as if time went at
a very rapid pace when I have before me so much that was
and so much that is.

It is beautiful here I In the evening a cool breeze is
wafted from the sea, and then all objects appear clearly and
sharply defined against the gray sky; the lights from the
windows glitter brilliantly ; so it was yesterday when I walked
up and down the streets with Mr. Ferguson (an Edinburgh
‘ friend of mine,’ to whom Mr. Droop, a London ‘ friend of
mine,’ has introduced me), and called at the post-office for
your letter of the 13th inst. I read it with a particular
zest in Princes Street, Edinburgh. In Edinburgh, a letter from
under the yew-tree in the Leipziger Strasse! My swim in the
sea was pleasant too to-day, and afloat on the waves I thought
of you all, how very closely we are linked together, and yet I
was in the deep Scotch ocean, that tastes very briny. Dobberan
is lemonade compared to it.

Whether I shall see Sir Walter Scott here, although I
have a letter to him from one of his intimate friends in London,
is quite uncertain ; yet I hope so, chiefly to escape a scolding
from you, dear mother, if I return without having seen the
lion. The flower-seed I can only get for you when this trip is
over, and am quite ashamed at not having sent it instead of
scissors, needles, and so on; but really one forgets in London
that there is such a thing as nature ; and as one becomes strong-
minded, cold, and indifferent, looking but just out of the win-
dow when there is a fire, to see the flames, and then quietly
sleeping on if it is not very near, so nobody dreams of flowers
belonging to the world, far less that seeds have anything to doEDINBURGH.

197

with them: one smells them, puts them into one’s button-hole,
and forgets them.

The Highland journey will be as follows : via Stirling,
Perth, Dunkeld, and the waterfalls to Blair Athol; thence on
foot over the hills to Inverary, to Glencoe, the Isle of Staffa,
and the Isle of Islay; there a stay of several days will be made,
because Sir Alexander Johnston has sent after me a letter of
introduction to Sir Walter Campbell, the lord, owner, and
tyrant of the island, whom a word of Johnston’s tames and
turns into a willing guide. From there up the Clyde to
Glasgow, then to Ben Lomond, which with Loch Lomond forms
the Highland lion, to Loch Earn, Ben Voirlich, Loch Katrine;
then to Cumberland. What further shall I tell you ? Time
and space are coming to an end, and everything must termin-
ate, in the refrain e How kind the people are in Edinburgh,
and how generous is the good God.’ The Scotch ladies also
deserve notice ; and if Mahmud follows father’s advice and turns
Christian, I shall in his place become a Turk and settle in this
neighbourhood.

Edinburgh : July 30, 1829.

Beloved Ones,—It is late at night, and this is my last
day in the town of Edinburgh. To-morrow morning we go to
Abbotsford to see Sir Walter Scott; the day after to-morrow,
into the Highlands. The windows are open, for the weather
is beautiful and the sky full of stars. Klingemann, in shirt
sleeves, sits by my side writing. So much for scenery.

The bearer of this letter is a young man, T. Thompson, who
has shown me much kindness here, and whom I have often had
the pleasure of meeting at a mutual friend’s. I earnestly
beg of you to smooth down for him as much as possible any
difficulties he may encounter in Berlin. I regret to say that
he speaks neither German nor French, so you will have to do
as if you were in Edinburgh, and talk English through thick
and thin. He is very fond of music; I know a pretty trio of
his composition and some vocal pieces, that please me very well,
and he submits to the drawback of going to a country the
language of which he does not know, merely to enjoy the198

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

advantages we have there. I beg you the more to be kind to
him, and believe the more that you will fulfil my request, as I
now know by experience how comforting it is to be amiably
and kindly received in a strange land, and as hospitality
abroad must be almost indispensable to an Englishman, who
will incessantly feel the greatest difference between his locked-
up country and all foreign lands.

Show him what will interest and please him ; Fanny should
play a good deal to him, he must hear her songs performed by
Eebecca; give him a good notion of music abroad. Father
once blamed me at Paris for not being kind enough to strangers,
and justly so, I believe. But I have got over that fault now
that I am far away from you; I have learnt to appreciate
it. In such a spirit I offered him the letters to Berlin', for
which he did not ask ; now you must continue to befriend him.

In the evening twilight we went to-day to the palace where
Queen Mary lived and loved; a little room is shown there
with a winding staircase leading up to the door; up this way
they came and found Eizzio in that little room, pulled him
out, and three rooms off there is a dark corner, where they
murdered him. The chapel close to it is now roofless, grass
and ivy grow there, and at that broken altar Mary was crowned
Queen of Scotland. Everything around is broken and moulder-
ing, and the bright sky shines in. I believe I found to-day in
that old chapel the beginning of my Scotch symphony. Now
farewell!

Klingemann writes:—

Abbotsford: July 31, 1829.

Most astonished friends ! 0 most amazed readers!

Under us the great man is snoring, his dogs are asleep
and his armoured knights awake : it is twelve o’clock, and the
sweetest ghostly hour which I have ever spent, for Miss Scott
makes the most delicious marmalade—the trees of the park
are rustling, the waves of the Tweed whisper to the bard the
tales of long bygone days, and the mystery of the present; and
harp-strains, sounded by tender hands, mingle therewith, vibrat-ABBOTSFORD.

199

ing through the strange old-fashioned apartment in which our
celebrated host has quartered us. Never was a letter begun with
greater relish, and we look down very much on Europe. When
this morning at a quarter to six we drove out of Edinburgh,
still quite sleepy, strange sounds fell on our ears: the stage
was already in motion, I rushed on to catch it, a street-porter
(here of course a Highlander) stopped it and called out eagerly,
‘ Hun, my man, run, my man ; it won’t wait! ’ What signify
another forty miles, if then we discover the sources of the Nile ?
We were in Melrose: Felix drove to Abbotsford ; I stayed be-
hind, as a person without a letter of introduction, who might
follow if Sir Walter would positively not let the other go.
Melrose Abbey is a ruin full of preservation and conversation ;
King David (of Scotland) and the magician Scott (Michael, not
Walter) are there cut in stone, and the whole neighbourhood
is interwoven with legends and ancient fairy dances. Thomas
the Rhymer and the Fairy Queen held their revels a little higher
up in the dark glen, and something of that still animates the
castellan when he scrambles like a chamois up to the highest
point of the ruins. One gets so hungry in such ruins (which
by way of contrast throw the present in one’s very face) that I
retired into the inn for bread and cheese and ale and a news-
paper. So I lay in quiet enjoyment on the sofa, when the
coach came hack and some one rushed into our room. Think-
ing only of Felix, I made some scurrilous remark. That mo-
ment I discerned an elderly man: ‘ Oh, Sir Walter! ’ cried I,
jumping up; and with apologizing blushes I added, ‘Familiar
likenesses can alone excuse like familiarity ! ’ ‘Never mind ! ’
was his brief reply,—his who is so famed for prolixity I ‘ My
dear future Parnassus-brother and historical novelist, I have
much pleasure in meeting you. Your friend has already beauti-
fully told me what and how much you will yet write and may
have written.’ Meanwhile hands were shaken out of joint and
shaken in again, and we all proceeded in happy ecstasy to
Abbotsford. This very evening Felix and I tremblingly wrote
music and verses in a large album. I wrote the following:—

Hohe Berge steigen himmelaufwarts

Und die Moore liegen rabenschwarz dazwischen,200

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

Felsen, Schluchten, Schlosser, Triimmer reden von

uralter Yergangenheit,

Und sinnverwirrend umrauscht es die Neuen,

Die davon traumen, ohne es zu verstehn.—

Aber an den Pforten des Landes wohnt Einer,

Der, ein Weiser, der R'athsel kundig ist
Und der alles Alte neu an’3 Licht bringt—

Nun ziehen die Frohen
Und rauschen und lauschen
Und reisen und weisen
Yersteben und seben

Die Felsen und Scblucbten und Schlosser und Triimmer.—
Der Weise aber bebet nocb immer die Schatze
Und miinzt sie ein in goldne, klingende Batzen!

Dies zum Andenken von etc. etc.1

P.S. by Felix.—This is all Klingemann’s invention. We
found Sir Walter in the act of leaving Abbotsford, stared at
him like fools, drove eighty miles and lost a day for the sake
of at best one half-hour of superficial conversation. Melrose
compensated us but little: we were out of humour with great
men, with ourselves, with the world, with everything. It was
a bad day. To-day, however, was glorious ! We have forgotten
the ills of yesterday, and can laugh over them.

Felix.—

Blair Athol: August 3, 1829.

This is a most dismal, melancholy, rainy day. But we
make shift as best we can, which indeed is not saying much.

Lofty mountains rising to the skies,

Raven-black moors far between expanding,

Rocks, crevices, castles, ruins, speak of the primaeval past,

In magic rustle sweeping by the living,

Who dream of it, but cannot understand it.

But at the gates of that old land there lives one,

A sage, who has the knowledge of those riddles,

And brings to fresh new light the wan old darkness.

Now come all the gay,

And listen and stay,

And travel and revel,

Delight in the sight,

Of the rocks and the crevices, castles and ruins,

But the sage evermore he digs up hidden treasures,

Coining silver and gold, preading wondrous fair pleasures.

(This in remembrance of, etc.)A HIGHLAND INN.

201

Earth and sky are wet through, and whole regiments of clouds
are still marching up. Yesterday was a lovely day, we passed
from rock to rock, many waterfalls, beautiful valleys, with rivers,
dark woods and heath with the red heather in blossom. In the
morning we drove in an open carriage, and then walked twenty -
one (English) miles. I sketched a great deal, and Klingemann
hit upon the divine idea, which I am sure will give you great
pleasure, of writing some rhymes at every spot of which I make
a sketch. Yesterday and to-day we have been carrying out the
plan, which answers charmingly : he has already composed very
pretty things.

Evening, August 3 : Bridge of Tummel.

A wild affair 1 The storm howls, rushes, and whistles, doors
are banging and window-shutters are bursting open. Whether
the watery noise is from the driving rain or the foaming stream
there’s no telling, as both rage together; we are sitting here
quietly by the fire, which I poke from time to time to make it
flare up. The room is large and empty, from one of the walls
the wet trickles down, the floor is so thin that the conversation
from the servants’ room below penetrates up to us : they are
singing drunken songs and laughing; dogs are barking. We
have two beds with crimson curtains; on our feet, instead of
English slippers, are Scotch wooden shoes ; tea, with honey and
potato-cakes; there is a wooden winding staircase, on which
the servant-girl came to meet us with whisky, a desperate cloud-
procession in the sky, and in spite of servants’ noise and door-
banging there is repose. It is quiet and very lonely here,! I
might say that the stillness rings through the noise. Just now
the door opens of itself. This is a Highland inn. The little
boys with their kilts and bare knees and gay-coloured bonnets,
the waiter in his tartan, old people with pigtails, talk helter-
skelter in their unintelligible Gaelic. The country is far and
wide thickly overgrown with foliage, from all sides ample water
is rushing from under the bridges, there is little corn, much
heather brown and red, precipices, passes, crossways, beautiful
green everywhere, deep-blue water—but all stern, dark, very
lonely. But why describe it ? Ask Droysen, he knows it better,
and can paint it: we have been constantly repeating lines from202

FELIX IN ENGLAND

his c Hochlands ’ to each other. Dear Droysen, how is it that
you know Scotland ? It is just as you describe it.

This evening I am reading the ‘Flegeljahre,’ and my sisters
are looking at me wistfully.1 Hensel understands his business:
he knows how to see faces and how to fix them. But the
weather is discouraging.

I have invented a new manner of drawing on purpose for it,
and have rubbed in clouds to-day and painted gray mountains
with my pencil. Klingemann is rhyming briskly, and I finish
my sketches during the rain.

Klingemann.—

Given in the Hebrides: August 7, 1829.

The youngsters of Tobermory, the capital of the Isle of
Mull, are merrily bustling by the harbour; the Atlantic Ocean,
which appears to contain abundance of water, is quietly riding at
anchor, the same as our steamer; we have found quarters in a
respectable private house, and would williugly leave a memorial
of our day’s work in always issuing, like Napoleon, our army-
bulletins from places of note. Perfectly charming it is here!
From my earliest days I have confounded the Hebrides with
the Hesperides ; and if we did not find the oranges on the
trees, they lay at least in the whisky-toddy. Yesterday we
moved up-hill and down-hill, our cart generally rolling on by
the side, and we ourselves stalking onwards through heather
and moors and all kinds of passes 2 (nature here is so amply
provided with them that Government does not ask for any),
under clouds, and in a thick drizzling rain, through the High-
lands. Smoky huts were stuck on cliffs, ugly women looked
through the window-holes, cattle-herds with Eob Eoys now and
then blocked up the way, mighty mountains were sticking up
to their knees (the latter in Highland costume) in the clouds,
and looked out again from the top, but we often saw little.
Late last night we unexpectedly stumbled upon a bit of culture
again, viz. the one street of which Fort William consists, and
this morning we embraced the very newest piece of culture,

1	Felix’s sisters had sent him to England Jean Paul’s Flegeljahre, his
favourite book, in which Hensel had drawn their portraits as a frontispiece.

2	‘ Pass ’ is the German word for passport.STAFFA AND FINGAL’S CAVE.

203

steam, and were again among many people, greedily enjoying
sunshine and sea-green, the wide outlines of the sea, the rocks
at modest distance, good cheer, and society of all kind. A new
friend told us at once that yonder young couple were on their
honeymoon excursion, and that he had seen them on Ben
Lomond shortly after the wedding dance a Scotch reel, the
bride with parting tears in her eyes. By the harbour of Oban
Bruce’s Rock rises up, where he is said to have done some great
deed or other; the Laird MacDonald goes home with his ladies
to a new house, which stands behind the ruins of the old castle,
and where a silver brooch of Bruce’s is still kept; our Edin-
burgh friend, Captain Nelson of the Navy, with whom we met on
the ship and shook hands with, tells us wonderful stories of how
this relic had once been lost and bought again at a high price,
and that once it was stolen along with other things, and at
last found in possession of a lady-descendant of Rob Roy.

Glasgow : August 10, 1829.

Seas have again been crossed since I wrote last. On the
seventh day we had to take rest, so as to be ready to put to sea
again next morning at five o’clock. Sitting, as we are now,
in the best hotel of a commercial town of 160,000 inhabit-
ants, which has a university and cotton manufactories, and
coffee and sugar at first hand, we look back with equanimity
on past disasters: the Highlands, however, and the sea brew
nothing but whisky and bad weather. Here it is different and
smooth, but comfortable. With a blue sky overhead, and a
good sofa underneath, palatable victuals before and ministering
spirits around us, we brave all dangers, particularly the past
ones. On the said early morning, the agreeable steam-persons,
who at first came flying towards us with nothing but olive-
leaves, became lower and lower, the more the barometer sank
and the sea rose. For that the Atlantic did, it stretched its
thousand feelers more and more roughly, twirling us about like
anything. The ship-household kept its breakfast almost for
itself, few people on board being able to manage their cups and
saucers, ladies as a rule fell down like flies, and one or the other
gentleman followed their example ; I only wish my travelling204

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

fellow-sufferer had not been among them, but he is on better
terms with the sea as a musician than as an individual or a
stomach ; two beautiful cold daughters of a Hebrides aristocrat,
at whom Felix may storm, quietly continued sitting on deck,
and did not even care much for the sea-sickness of their own
mother. Also there sat placidly by the steam-engine, warm-
ing herself in the cold wind, a woman of two-and-eighty. That
woman has six times touched me and seven times irritated me.
She wanted to see Staffa before her end. Staffa, with its strange
basalt pillars and caverns, is in all picture-books. We were put
out in boats and lifted by the hissing sea up the pillar stumps
to the celebrated Fingal’s Cave. A greener roar of waves surely
never rushed into a stranger cavern—its many pillars making it
look like the inside of an immense organ, black and resounding,
and absolutely without purpose, and quite alone, the wide gray
sea within and without. There the old woman scrambled about
laboriously, close to the water: she wanted to see the cave of
Staffa before her end, and she saw it. We returned in the little
boat to our steamer, to that unpleasant steam-smell. When the
second boat arrived, I could see with what truth at the theatre
they represent the rising and falling of a boat, when the hero
saves the heroine out of some trouble. There was a certain
comfort in seeing that the two aristocratic faces had after all
turned pale, as I looked at them through my black eye-glass.
The two-and-eighty-years-old woman was also in the boat trem-
bling, the boat went up and down, with difficulty she was lifted
out—hut she had seen Staffa before her end. The pleasure
increased in gravity; where yesterday nice conversation went
on, to-day silence was indulged in. That glossy negro, yester-
day on deck, who (when he did not smoke) played on tambourine
and pipe the Huntsmen’s Chorus on the Atlantic, and who in
the evening had all the juveniles of Tobermory in his train,
had remained there. The yellow mulatto cook, whose shining
Caliban-countenance we joyfully watched yesterday amongst
saucepans, herrings, and vegetables, was now frying some stale
ham, the smell of which drove some suffering navigators to
despair, if not to worse; the surviving passengers conspired
against the captain, who, to oblige Sir James, was going to sailIONA. OBAN.

205

back by the roundabout way, instead of taking the short cut
by Iona to Oban. Iona, one of the Hebrides-sisters—there is
truly a very Ossianic and sweetly sad sound about that name
—when in some future time I shall sit in a madly crowded
assembly with music and dancing round me, and the wish arises
to retire into the loneliest loneliness, I shall think of Iona,
with its ruins of a once magnificent cathedral, the remains of
a convent, the graves of ancient Scotch kings and still more
ancient northern pirate-princes—with their ships rudely carved
on many a monumental stone. If I had my home on Iona, and
lived there upon melancholy as other people do on their rents,
my darkest moment would be when in that wide space, that
deals in nothing but cliffs and sea-gulls, suddenly a curl of
steam should appear, followed by a ship and finally by a gay
party in veils and frock-coats, who would look for an hour at
the ruins and graves and the three little huts for the living, and
then move off again. This highly unjustifiable joke, occurring
twice a week, and being almost the only thing to make one
aware that there are such things as time and clocks in the
world, would be as if the inhabitants of those old graves haunted
the place in a ludicrous disguise. Opposite Iona stands a rocky
island, which, to complete the effect, looks like a ruined city.

Gradually the sea-sick people recovered, a sail was spread,
by way of tent, on deck, less for keeping off the sun than the
wet, which is a constant matter of dispute between Felix and
me, since he calls it rain, and I call it mist; we kept open table
in the face of all the sea-monsters of the Atlantic; even Felix
fell to and stood out like his own self; Sir James took wine
with those that had not complained of him—we refraining
from that honour. At seven o’clock in the evening we ought
to have been back in Oban, our continent, but we only reached
Tobermory ; some of the party went on shore, the negro did not
entice the insular juveniles, for it rained, and he would not have
found favour. Night came on, the captain coolly cast anchor
in some corner or other, and we lay down in the cabin; beds
there were none, and herrings are lodged in spacious halls com-
pared to us. At times when half asleep I tried to drive away
flies from my face, and then found they were the grizzly locks206

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

of the old Scotchman; if the Pope had been amongst us, some
Protestant might unawares have kissed his slipper, for we often
chanced to make unknown boots act as pillows. It was a wild
night’s revel without the merry cup, and with rain and wind for
the boisterous songsters.

At half past six on Sunday morning we landed at Oban in
the rain. Not wishing to hear a Gaelic sermon, we mounted
one of those eligible open vehicles that are called carts,4 sheltered’
by the rain; at last, however, the sun came out, warming our
hearts and drying our cloaks. In Inverary we found an excel-
lent inn and good quarters. Our host’s beautiful daughter in
her black curls- looked out like a sign over the signboard into
the harbour, in which the newest herrings are swimming about
all alive at nine o’clock in the morning, and at a quarter past
nine are served up fried with the coffee. Sympathising fellow-
travellers eased our minds of our past sufferings and our feet of
our torn boots. The Duke of Argyll’s castle proudly looked
forth from between the lofty trees; and from the tops of the
surrounding hills the green trees held a colloquy with their
relations below, who were already appointed to the navy and
swam about in the water.

Our longing for culture and letters drove us to Glasgow by
a wondrous road through divers 4 lochs ’ (i.e. lakes) and some
land. Out of a steamboat on which we embarked, whilst our
host’s black-curled daughter thumped the piano, we were to have
been transferred into a steam-coach, but our locomotion was
effected by horses, and the former vehicle stood idly by the road-
side, having already been used but not found quite practicable
yet, and looking very ridiculous with a high funnel and a rudder.
Then we were again lodged in a steamboat, which was said to be
of iron: the walls, however, at which we knocked were of wood.
Then again we drove a little distance on land, until we came to
Loch Hech, there once more got on board a steamer, which finally
delivered us to a final one in the mouth of the Clyde, and we
sailed up the Clyde to Glasgow: a splendid sail, scarcely any
waves, watering-places on the river with large vessels, sea-gulls,
steamers fast gliding past, villas, a rock with Dumbarton Castle
and a view of the clear wide distance, and the blue towering,
magnificent Ben Lomond. We saw him for the first time. TheGLASGOW.

207

country became more flat, and soft corn-fields gave us a familiar
greeting like old acquaintances, after our long roaming along the
proud and silent mountains. Everything was still and peaceful.
Three kinds of stillnesses are here: between the mountains the
water rushes, but it is sternly still; in the sea between the islands
the waves roll, but it is dismally still; in the smooth water the
steamboats fly, but it is mildly and recreatively still. The first
are wild fellows, who refuse learning and working; the second
are discharged gods, who are sulking ; the last are good children
after a good day’s work. In Glasgow there are seventy steam-
boats, forty of which start every day, and many long chimneys
are smoking. An excellent inn refreshes us ; the waiters
minister to us with two hands and as many feet, as steam-
service in hotels has not yet been invented.

On the 11th, to-morrow, we start for Loch Lomond and
the rest of the scenery which ought to be published and packed
up as supplements to Sir Walter Scott’s complete works. We
have seen and admired Glasgow. This morning we were
in a stupendous cotton mill, as full of maddening noise as the
divine waterfall of Monass. What is the difference to the ear ?
One old work-woman wore a wreath of cotton, another had tied
up her aching tooth with it. Hundreds of little girls toil there
from their earliest days and look yellow. But there will ever
exist poetry about it. Systematic order becomes sublime, and
the whole swallows itself up in succession, like seasons and vege-
tation. I joke little and admire much. Times are not so bad,
when everything irresistibly moves on, and motion is the best
digestive. Time goes on at an alarming pace, and all the High-
lands, broad and narrow, have yet to be described. We are too
far before-hand, the best ingredients for thoughts and letters, and
even better than the best, have necessarily been left behind in
divers corners and nooks, and the Highlanders cannot appreciate
them, whilst you, all of you, deserve our best and not our hastiest.

Klingemann.

Felix.—

On one of the Hebrides: August 7, 1829.

In order to make you understand how extraordinarily the
Hebrides affected me, the following came into my mind there.208

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

»,LOCH LOMOND.

209

Glasgow: August 11.

How much lies betwixt my last letter and this ! The most
fearful sickness, Staffa, scenery, travels, people—Klingemann has
described it all, and you will excuse a short note, the more so as
what I can best tell you is contained in the above music.

Felix.—

Glasgow: August 15.

This then is the end of our Highland journey and the
last of our joint letters. We have been happy together, have
led a merry life, and roved about the country as gaily as if the
storm and rain, of which all newspapers (by this time perhaps
even the Berlin ones) are full, had not existed. But they did
exist. We had weather to make the trees and rocks crash. The
day before yesterday on Loch Lomond we were sitting in deep
twilight in a small rowing boat, and were going to cross to the
opposite shore, invited by a gleaming light, when there came
a sudden tremendous gust of wind from the mountain; the boat
began to see-saw so fearfully that I caught up my cloak and got
ready to swim. All our things were thrown topsy-turvy, and
Klingemann anxiously called to me, ‘ Look sharp, look sharp ! ’
But with our usual good luck we got safely through. When on
shore, we had to sit in a room with a cursing young Englishman,
who was something between a sportsman, a peasant, and a
gentleman, perfectly insufferable, and with three other indivi-
duals of a similar kind, and .were obliged to sleep in the next
house close under the roof, so that from sitting-room to bed-
room we walked with umbrellas, cloak, and cap. To describe
the wretchedness and the comfortless, inhospitable solitude of
the country, time and space do not allow; we wandered ten
days without meeting a single traveller; what are marked on the
map as towns, or at least villages, are a few sheds, huddled
together, with one hole for door, window, and chimney, for the
entrance and exit of men, beasts, light, and smoke, in which to
all questions you get a dry ‘No,’ in which brandy is the only
beverage known, without church, without street, without gardens,
the rooms pitch dark in broad daylight, children and fowls lying

vol. 1.	p210

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

in the same straw, many huts without roofs, many unfinished,
with crumbling walls, many ruins of burnt houses ; and even
these inhabited spots are but sparingly scattered over the
country. Long before you arrive at a place you hear it talked
of; the rest is heath, with red or brown heather, withered fir
stumps, and white stones, or black moors where they shoot
grouse. Now and then you find beautiful parks, but deserted,
and broad lakes, but without boats, the roads a solitude. Fancy
in all that the rich glowing sunshine, which paints the heath
in a thousand divinely, warm colours, and then the clouds
chasing hither and thither! It is no wonder that the High-
lands have been called melancholy. But two fellows have
wandered merrily about them, laughed at every opportunity,
rhymed and sketched together, growled at one another and at
the world when they happened to be vexed or did not find any-
thing to eat, devoured everything eatable when they did find
it, and slept twelve hours every night; those two were we,
who will not forget it as long as we live.

Klingemann.—

Glasgow: August 14, 1829.

My vis-a-vis has not only so completely done his page but
also the Highlands that I feel ashamed to begin, and should be
inclined to take a piece of oat-cake on the spot as a striking
document and illustration. Ever-memorable country! The
mnemonic powers of the nose are well known, and in the same
way as Walt1 could not forget auriculas, so the Highland smell
will be remembered by us, a certain smoky atmosphere which
every Highlander has about him. I once, while going along,
closed my eyes and then correctly stated that five Highlanders
had passed—my nose had seen them. It is easy to determine
the number of houses in the same way. As for the rest, the
country is not as bad as certain people in great capitals would
make out. It is almost exclusively a mountainous country, and
as such it is remarkable. At night, when the storm rises, you
find an inn with beds and rooms which you are not exactly
obliged to share with cattle drovers, but with sporting John

Jean Paul’s Flegeljahre.THE HIGHLANDS.

211

Bulls ; if a fowl chances to run about the room or a pig squeaks
under you, it is a proof that you may look forward to a new-
laid egg and some pork next morning at breakfast; if the cart
on which you travel jolts rather murderously, that is only the
more temptation to get out and walk ; if no officious fellow
happens to be found to carry one’s things on foot, that is but a
friendly invitation to make oneself comfortable and drive; if
nothing is to be had but fresh herrings and beautiful rich cream,
that indicates the patriarchal primitiveness which the modern
world has so often on its lips; if the people make a clumsy
effort at something better, with diluted wine and diluted bills,
that shows a pleasing disposition for culture. Altogether the
inns, so few and far between, which on the map are marked as
towns, perhaps represent nothing further than seeds of cities,
here and there dotted over the broad moor, which by-and-by
will swell and grow.

At last we issued from the Highlands, longing for the warm
sun, which we had not seen for days, lounging in good carriages
long unknown to us, driving through level country and cheerful
villages, such as we had not been in for ages. The sun did
really shine out here from the blue sky, only over the Highlands
black clouds were hanging; but the longer and oftener we
looked back, the bluer and more misty grew the mountains, at
the feet of which we had been lying, all deep shades of colour
mingled, and we might have become Highland-sick and wished
ourselves back had we not known that the reality within that
mountain land was gray, cold, and majestic. It was a sweet fare-
well to the heights which we at once abuse and love.

Felix.—

August 19, 1829.

We flew away from Glasgow on the top of the mail, ten miles
an hour, past steaming meadows and smoking chimneys, to
the Cumberland lakes, to Keswick, Kendal, and the prettiest
towns and villages. The whole country is like a drawing-room.
The rocky walls are papered with bushes, moss, and firs, the
trees are carefully wrapped up in ivy; there are no walls or
fences, only high hedges, and you see them all the way up the212

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

flat hilltops. On all sides carriages full of travellers fly along
the roads ; the corn stands in sheaves; slopes, hills, precipices,
are all covered with thick, warm foliage. Then again our eyes
dwelt on the dark blue English distance, many a noble castle,
and so on, until we reached Ambleside. There the sky turned
gloomy again, and we had rain and storm. Sitting on the top
of the £ stage,’ and madly careering along ravines, past lakes,
uphill, downhill, wrapped in cloaks, and umbrellas up, we
could see nothing but railings, heaps of stones or ditches, and
but rarely catch glimpses of hills and lakes. Sometimes our
umbrellas scraped against the roofs of the houses, and then, wet
through, we would come to a second-rate inn, with a high blaz-
ing fire, and English conversation about walking, coals, supper,
the weather, and Bonaparte. Yesterday our seats on the coach
were accidentally separated, so that I hardly spoke to Klinge-
mann, for changing horses was done in about forty seconds.
I sat on the box next by the coachman, who asked me whether
I flirted much, and made me talk a good deal, and taught me
the slang of horsemanship. Klingemann sat next to two old
women, with whom he shared his umbrella. Again manufac-
tories, meadows, parks, provincial towns, here a canal, there a
railway, then the sea with ships, six full coaches with towering
outsiders following each other, in the evening a thick fog: the
stage-coaches running madly in the darkness. Through the
fog we see lamps gleaming all about the horizon, the smoke of
manufactories envelops us on all sides, gentlemen on horseback
ride past, one coach-horn blows in B flat, another in D, others
follow in the distance, and here we are at Liverpool.

This evening Klingemann goes to London, and I to Holywell
—the Scotch journey is over ; everything goes very fast, much
novelty has passed me lately, and has not yet come to a
standstill. We part now, and a beautiful time must be num-
bered with the things that were.

Klingemann.—

Liverpool: August 19, half-past nine.

At ten o’clock our pleasure will be over. Two grave fellows
have settled their accounts, and I shall settle myself on theIN THE STAGE-COACH.

213

mail, and go on, not as I should like to do, with my letter,
but with my journey to London. Here then follows a short
warm leave-taking from my joint-correspondence companion
and from all the green, mountainous scene. To-day in the
little town of Liverpool we have necessarily loitered about the
exchange, the harbour, the new cemeteries, and the town-hall,
and in order to get our dinner had to go in a steamer across
the raw, rainy Mersey, whence we have just returned, sitting in
a dark cabin amongst invisible, silent, and talkative, rather full
and yet empty Liverpudlians, and now, packing and reckoning,
end our four weeks’ wet but good holiday. May the bells go
on ringing and pealing until wayward fate again takes a fancy
to separate people God knows how, and unite them God knows
where. By a strange roundabout way two fellows, who in more
than one sense are opposite one another, are writing about
each other in a mutual letter, and say, God bless you, and
many thanks for your good company ! We did indeed bravely
and honestly wend our way through Highlands and Lowlands,
but woe upon all the bad inns and all the mountain rain, that
have so often made us silent! Basta! Felix envies me the
miserable bit of space still left on this paper, as it gives me
the privilege of setting forth a piquant event of this morning,
viz. that we found on board the New York steamer Napoleon,
among all other imaginable mahogany comforts, a Broadwood
piano, to while away the long moments on the sea, at which—
in the Liverpool harbour, close to the Atlantic—Felix sat down
and played to me, 0 bridal young lady ! the first movement of
your Easter-sonata, of which till then we had only talked. The
cool sea air wafted in from above, and distant sailors sang at
their work a monotonous ditty in a minor key. Farewell!

Felix.—

Llangollen : August 25, 1829.

No national music for me! Ten thousand devils take all
nationality! Now I am in Wales, and, dear me! a harper sits
in the hall of every reputed irm, playing incessantly so-called
national melodies ; that is to say, most infamous, vulgar, out-of-
tune trash, with a hurdy-gurdy going at the same time! It is214

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

distracting, and has given me a toothache already. Scotch
bagpipes, Swiss cow-horns, Welsh harps, all playing the Hunts-
men’s Chorus with hideously improvised variations—then their
beautiful singing in the hall—altogether their music is beyond
conception. Any one who, like myself, cannot bear Beethoven’s
national songs, should come here and listen to them bellowed
out by rough nasal voices, and accompanied in the most awkward
style, and keep his temper. Whilst I am writing this, the
fellow in the hall is playing

m



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it

m



1 * , — J

I

i—^" i^_j:—f	f" i

and then he varies it, and the hurdy-gurdy puts in a hymn in
E flat. I am getting mad, and must leave off writing till by-
and-by.

August 26.—I did right. In my despair last night I went
to mine host’s three daughters, who possess a piano, and re-
quested them to play to me. They are pretty girls, and they
played. Hurdy-gurdy man and harp-player (the latter, I saw
this morning, officiates also as barber) were silenced; the
daughter drummed away, and I was happy. ‘ Masaniello ’ and
some quadrilles refreshed me. Then they asked me to ‘ favour
them ’; and I favoured them to my heart’s content, playing
furiously, and curing my toothache. It was quite a pleasant
evening, and I returned to my room too late to write. More-
over, I had been scrambling yesterday up a high mountain,
with a ruined convent on the summit. From there I looked
round into the blue distance and into dark lonely valleys at the
mountain’s foot, walked down to one of those still vales, with the
walls and windows of an ancient abbey, covered and filled up with
tender green trees ; a noisy brook rushes by, stones and rocky
fragments are scattered all about. The choir of the church has
been turned into a stable, the altar is a kitchen; the frettedWET WE A THEE.

215

window-arches are overgrown by the tops of the beeches that
stand in the nave. The sky was a monotonous gray. I com-
posed some music, instead of drawing in Hensel’s Christmas
book. It was a good day.

Blue sky and sunshine benefit my very heart, they are so
indispensable to me! Here they are not, and that makes me
feel grave and almost sad. Summer is gone, and we have not
had one summer’s day. Yesterday was. a good day, that is
to say, I got wet only three times, kept my cloak round my
shoulders, and several times saw the sun through the clouds. Of
bad days you have no conception. A furiously driving storm
has been blowing almost without interruption for four weeks,
the clouds are lowering, and would rain fearfully if the storm
allowed them to fall quietly to the ground •; but it intercepts
them, throws them about in the air, or lashes them into your
face in the shape of drizzle: the only thing you can do is to
remain at home. Instead of the customary merry travelling
talk you hear £ Time out of mind,’ or £ Boads flooded,’ or £ Mails
and ships missing,’ ‘Travelling-plan spoilt.’ Mine is by this
time spoilt likewise. To-day I was going to make a last
attempt for the hills, in case of a blue sky, but there is the
same rain-storm or storm-rain, and I give it up. The trip to
Ireland went to pieces in Bangor and on the Isle of Anglesey.
In spite of all the wet I kept thinking that I would go over for
a few days ; then the steamers arrived had been fifteen hours at
sea instead of six, and when the sea-sick passengers came totter-
ing on there, wet, weak, and swearing, I at once engaged a seat
in the coach. I have fought a good fight against the weather,
getting wet through almost daily. I have seen the hills, as one
sees furniture, chandeliers, and carpets of an old palace, covered
up with brown holland, except a few glorious hilltops. But
now there is an end of it. To-morrow I shall go to my country
friends, and next week back to London.

Two bright happy days fell like sunshine into the gloom,
and it is strange that everything turns out so differently from
what we fancy it will be. Those two days chanced to be the
very first of my being quite alone, a stranger in a strange coun-
try. The evening of my last letter, when Klingemann had2l6

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

packed up his things and got ready, I accompanied him in the
dark through the raging storm and rain to the coach-office.
He mounted the coach, we exchanged a few more German
words, then the guard blew his horrid trumpet, the stage
rattled off, London appeared to me as much a home as if it
were my native town, and then I returned alone through the
rain to the empty place and went to sleep in a room with two
beds. How difficult everything had been but an hour ago!
Imagine the most miserable evening possible, and you will not
approach the reality. Bad accommodation, exorbitant bills,
my drawing a failure, and such like vexations added to my dis-
comfort. On the following day I did not start till two, and just
for something to do I went to the railway (the line to Manchester
is five-and-thirty miles), saw the two tunnels, and strolled inside.
Not being able to see the end of the large tunnel, its extent
made some impression on me. I spoke to the inspector, and by
representations and entreaties prevailed upon him to allow me
to go in a truck under Liverpool to the harbour. The truck
came, a workman mounted behind, and off we went. The speed
was fifteen miles an hour; there is no horse, no engine, the
carriage goes of its own accord, getting gradually quicker and
quicker owing to the road going almost imperceptibly downhill.
We had two lights in front, but the daylight vanished, the
draught extinguished the lights, and we were in utter darkness.
For the first time in my life I saw Nothing. The truck tears
on faster and faster, and rattles worse and worse—a trial to my
nerves! In the middle of the passage we passed a coal-fire,
and the workman stopped and lighted a lamp: it was bitter
cold. At last the red warm daylight streamed in at the further
end, and when I alighted I stood by the harbour. I felt much
relieved, and when on my way home I went through the market-
house the sight of it quite cheered me up. It is only a slight
framed house, though a good deal bigger than the catholic
church, with a very low roof. All along the whole extent of
the building there were about eight rows of stalls, piled up with
fruit, meat, vegetables, cakes, and so arranged that a long broad
avenue leads you through nothing but food. It swarms with all
sorts of people, many negroes, Americans, Italians, many Welsh,NORTH WALES.

217

naval officers, innumerable handsome cooks. In the centre
there is a large clock; the walls are decorated with plans of
Liverpool. My spirits rose, and I drove to Chester. On the
way I revolved in my mind a thing which has been troubling
me for the last four weeks, whether I am doing right in spend-
ing so much money and time in roving about at random, without
any definite purpose, only for pleasure. But then I said to my-
self that what I now see I may never see again, that I am
seeing England free from care, and without any business, and
that such independence may not fall to my lot a second time;
for when I return I shall have too much to do to allow of country
rambles. So, as I shall very likely never spend another summer
here, as I can never forget Scotland, as I shall never call any
time lost in which I was happy and bright (in which I never
could be in idleness), and, last not least, as new ideas forming
in my head are proofs that I have digested my London impres-
sions, and must write music again (of which I had begun to
despair), I cast aside all scruples and absolve myself. The
question is, Will you, dear father, likewise do so ? Well, I
turned quite merry, and in Chester a bright scene presented
itself: the broad town-walls make a promenade round the
town, and there I saw a girls’ school marching along which I
followed with my sketch-book. The girls looked very pretty,
the distance very blue, the houses and towers in the foreground
dark gray; in the evening a gentle rain fell, and when it was dark
we left for Holywell. My neighbour in the coach spoke much
of a son of his lately, dead, and invited me to come and see
him. I accepted, although he does not know my name. Dark
masses on both sides of the road promised ravines, trees,
and hills; meanwhile I went to bed, after having enjoined
on the boy to call at the post-office to-morrow morning as
early as possible. He awakened me with letters, to which I
owed the happiest day. One I received from dear Droysen, to
whom you must read my pleasure and thanks. And then yours,
full of life and Miihlenfels! The idea that father might
perhaps come to London made me almost mad with joy. Dear
father, if you only would come! Klingemann and I have so
often talked about it. You say you require excitement; good-2l8

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

ness knows tliis would be excitement! I won’t say anything
more about it, or I shall forget everything else. But if it only
could come to pass ! The thoughts of it, and your letters,
altogether made me feel so happy and at home in my solitude !
I drove out to the Taylors’, to announce myself for the day
after to-morrow. They live in their country-house, which stands
on a large, closely mown lawn, surrounded with flowers; no
bustle, noise, or people. Mr. Taylor’s mines are some dis-
tance off; mountains all about. I walked across the meadows,
and found the elegant and formal London family ; but oh, how
changed ! The father and brother were away. Never mind!
Two daughters were at work in the garden, the mother was
riding on a donkey. There was much hand-shaking. I missed
the prettiest daughter, but on our walk by-and-by we heard the
sound of horses’ feet, and immediately afterwards she came
riding towards us, out of breath, in a blue habit, and followed
by a tall cousin. She is very pretty, and her name is Susan. I
began at once to hate the cousin, until it turned out that he
would have much pleasure in accompanying me through Wales.
I accepted, we struck up an eternal friendship (but in English,
for he does not understand French, far less German), and our
plans were soon settled. After this I was introduced to a good
English grand-piano, and played to myself a variety of things.
Upon that the above-named horsewoman promised me her own
summer-house (a fir-bark cottage in the park) to compose in on
my return ; and I had to promise her to sketch the said cottage.
At dinner the girls came in white dresses, my decided predilec-
tion (this may refer to the girls or the dresses); after dinner, in
the twilight by the light of the fire, I played to them again,
and then drove back in the dark to Holywell, sleeping of course
in the carriage, but enjoying pleasant dreams. Those were the
two sunny days. Next morning the rain and storm came back
again; however, the Englishman and myself set out on our
journey, and slept that night by the sea, at Bangor. (Wales is
a beautiful country, but the paper is coming to an end, so that
I must keep it for a viva voce description.) Next day we went
by way of Carnarvon to Beddgellert and the vale of Festiniog,
then to Capel Carrig, and yesterday to Corwen : whence myTHE TAYLOR FAMILY.

219

companion returned to their house (Coed Du), and I came
here. We got on very well together, and talked a good deal;
but once on the ‘ stage,’ when I was humming Fanny’s first
song, ‘Horen mocht ich,’ he pulled my sleeve and showed
me a salmon fishery, where the finest salmon are caught.
If he had not done that, I should never have snubbed him
or growled at him. But those songs are more beautiful than
any one can say. Indeed I speak as a cool critic, and declare
them very pretty. There is music which seems the quintes-
sence, the soul, of music. Such are your songs; I know no
better! But farewell! Where I go to-day, east, west, or
north, is not settled yet. Perhaps I shall stop here, for it rains
tremendous. This however, I think, will be my last travelling
letter: the next will be dated from London, that smoky nest.
When I think of what I am doing, I quote father, and say to
myself, ‘Donde diavolo.’ Take this letter in the spirit I write
it, and God bless you! It is a strange coincidence that the
day on which you wrote your letter, when you had sunshine in
the garden and wished me the same, proved to be one of the few
fine days here. Good morning to you all!	Felix.

September 2, 1829.

I address this letter to my sisters, for several reasons. It is
the turning-point letter for this year; henceforward every one
will be dated nearer and nearer to Berlin, until they stop alto-
gether : that is one reason. There’s nothing important, grave,
or business-like to be told ; nothing to write about but gardens,
drawing, and flirting: that is another reason. And for the first
time since I left Germany I am in a cordial, comfortable family
circle, and while I enjoy it I think of you : that’s my principal
reason. We talk an immense deal about my sisters ; my friends
here have taken an immense fancy to your portraits, and know
you well by your Christian names and everything, and I describe
you exactly to them. All this I might have told you in my
London letter, for I shall be there by the end of the week; but
as I do not know what time and spirits I shall have left on my
arrival there, and whether I shall then be able to write as cheer-
fully as I can now, it will be better to send a letter from here,220

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

although it must be a few days longer on the road; for here I
am in Coed Du, the country-house in Wales. On the day of my
last letter from Llangollen, I drove along in the mail through
fearful rain; walked down to the vale of Llanrwst, and drove in
an open carriage to Conway, where I arrived perhaps wetter
than I had ever in my life been before. On the following day
I drove to Holywell, where I expected letters from you, and
did not find any. I was wetter even than the day before. This
time I had a bad room, my head felt dizzy from the storm, I
was disappointed of home news, which always gives me a whole
day’s sustenance, had a smoky chimney, and found my inn just
as comfortless and dreary as it had been cosy the first time.
Altogether I hate and dread all second times, and therefore was
trembling at the thought of going back to Coed Du. Moreover,
I had nothing to read, as the first part of 4 Guy Mannering,’
which I had bought in the new five-shilling edition, was at an
end, and the second is to come out only to-day. I therefore
took up the paper and read of the Irish steamer which the cap-
tain had given up for lost, which had no coals left, which instead
of twenty-six hours took fifty-six, in which the passengers lay on
the floor, the stewards had to crawl on hands and feet, and the
ladies were in continual fainting-fits, and which was only saved
by the stopping of the wind. Then I read of two persons being
tried who, in spite of all denials and many improbabilities, were
sentenced and executed in three days; and more such ugly
things. The following day, however, was the day for Coed Du.
And now I wish I had the gift of description. But how am I
to set about it when each step, each moment, is so entirely
different from Germany ? What shall I tell you ?

I wish I were a famous author, that would be the thing for
me. However, I write away; for you children it must be good
enough. They speak the most correct English possible, and I
sometimes make strange blunders; but that matters little.
The father, Mr. Taylor, is the most English Englishman you can
imagine. (A projoos, I do not know Hamilton and Co., have never
seen them, and only recommend them for a ticket for the Sing-
akademie.) He possesses very extensive mines in different
parts of England, and appears to be a great authority on theSKETCHING AND PLAYING.

221

matter; here he has six lead-mines, which he manages with
his sons. The sons have been in Germany, and speak German
to me; they are mighty sportsmen (Dick shot fifteen partridges
and a pheasant yesterday); they run across the meadow in
front of the house, go fishing, train their dogs, and make fun
with their sisters. The latter have their own merits ; perhaps
only the second may he called handsome, but she is very hand-
some, and has a charming way of talking ; all three look very
nice, and the eldest is a capital girl: nor can anything he said
against the youngest. Luckily the second is the chief piano-
player, and I have already given her much good advice, how to
keep the joints loose and how to hold her fingers. But the
eldest is very clever at sketching, and can do men and women
in the foreground very well. As I cannot do that, she puts the
figures into some of my Scotch landscapes; yesterday, for
instance, she put in some exquisite Highlanders. The youngest
has just given me a little pin-cushion. The mother is very
placid and good ; one feels that she is the ruling spirit, although
she talks little. I am very fond of her, and I think so she is of
me: she sometimes reminds me of you, dear mother ; even in
the face the likeness at times is quite striking. Besides the
family there are three long, withered, ugly, spiteful cousins from
Ireland, unmarried, old, are always whispering and in short
green dresses; we live in open feud, and hate each other cordi-
ally. Then their brother, a quiet, morose young man, who
plays the horn and is a proficient in mining; then another
cousin, my travelling companion, who kills many rabbits,
draws, and makes love to the youngest; then a quiet captain
of the navy; then three ponies and donkeys, a phaeton, a man-
servant in plush and silk, gardeners, workpeople, etc. The
scene is between Mold and Ruthin, Flintshire; time, twelve
o’clock at noon. The visitors arrived yesterday, and are
going to assist at the grand fete, which will begin in about an
hour. In a narrow valley six miles from here a tent has been
erected, where we are to dine to-day : the whole neighbourhood
has been invited, will assemble here at one, and then walk to
the tent. Wherever there is pretty scenery we shall make a
stop and sketch all aspects and prospects. The mother will ride222

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

on a donkey, for special guests the phaeton will be ready;
the pheasant that was killed yesterday is under a brown pie-
crust ; the gardener has orders for a great many flowers ; from
my window I see white dresses fluttering in the meadow.
If the weather is fine we shall laugh, if it rains we shall
laugh still more; besides, there is a steam-engine in the
neighbourhood, where we may warm ourselves, and take
shelter in case of necessity. When we come home this even-
ing, we shall find the saloon thrown open and illuminated, be-
cause there will be dancing. (The girls have told me so in
confidence, therefore don’t betray the secret!) This is an
extempore holiday, for no special occasion whatever, merely for
pleasure’s sake; that pleases me immensely, and I defy any
one to run down the English. In every respect I live splen-
didly here ; above all, there is much music, I play three or
four hours a day, and write music of different kinds—amongst
others, something for the next wedding. That crazy song for
the tragedian has been sent off, and you, Fanny, will see to
the corrections. Then I have somewhat hastily promised Miss
Anne to set to music the nosegay of carnations with a rose in
the centre which she gave me the other day, and it is rather
a hard task: I am to write it into her album, and make
a drawing of the nosegay over it. It will be, as Seidel says,
very tender. I shall soon send over my violin-quartet [in E
flat] ; and for the completion of my Reformation-symphony
I was the other day at a depth of five hundred. feet under-
ground, perhaps not without a result. The Hebrides affair like-
wise may turn out fanciful enough, and for the silver wed-
ding I am concocting all sorts of spirits. That much for my
music explicite. Implicite my music is when we all sit to-
gether down by the sluice, sketching; Miss Anne and I do the
sluice, Susan does her sister; Anne the youngest, with her back
towards us, sketches the further course of the brook, the cousin
the whole group ; and the father comes from his mine over
the bridge, smiling very pleasantly and chatting with us, as
we go on with our occupation. In the evening, when we have
had enough piano-playing, the sketches are brought out again
and touched up. Anne finishes hers very well, and managesHOME LIFE AT COED DU.

223

light and shade; I go on a broad scale; Susan’s figures are
put into our landscapes, she makes use of our trees for her
background, and so forth. Implicite it is music too when we
ride out together, for the girls do not look amiss in their blue
riding-habits. The other day I rode out with the brother John
and the eldest sister to pay a visit to two old ladies in the neigh-
bourhood, and yesterday I rode with the cousin and Susan far
over the country more than twelve miles. After we had been
riding briskly and I had been talking of my German life, we
slackened our pace and kept on conversing, and the quiet
English girl began of a sudden to talk of you, Rebecca, and to
tell me how she means to teach you riding when you come
to Coed Du (your coming is to the girls an indubitable fact),
and that you will ride much better than Fanny (I almost think
so too), and which rooms you shall have. Implicite likewise it
is music at dinner when we talk over and over again of a
dear friend of the family who is now in Mexico, and whose
name is Captain Lion (father will remember him from Ritter’s
lectures, the same who left the desert Sahara to go straight to
the North Pole), and when Mr. Taylor tells us nice bits from
Lion’s travels, and the daughters bring out the American things
he gave them, and the mother tries to describe to me the
Esquimaux-songs he used to sing to them on summer even-
ings out of doors. All this is indeed music, and very charm-
ing too! Do you remember what a fancy for heliotropes I took
once at Potsdam ? I have the same fancy here for a kind of
large carnation (I shall bring seeds of it), and every morning the
girls give me the most lovely ones : my room smells so sweetly.
On Sundays I do not play, because I saw that they do not like
it, and in the evening have to play to them some sacred music,
Handel and so on ; and that is twofold music. To-morrow there
is to be a public dinner at Holywell, given in honour of Mr.
Taylor by the people of the neighbourhood, at which I am to
be present as a friend of the family—I think I may call myself
so—and the day after to-morrow I shall go back to London.
There I shall settle many affairs, thank all my friends and well-
wishers, write to Moscheles, Johnston, etc., finish my drawings,
cross the Channel, etc. I am writing this close to the steam-224

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

engine which I mentioned, for in the middle of my letter I was
called away and walked down with the ladies into the valley,
where the tent is. What follows I must live to see, and then
I will write to you about it.—Yours,

Felix.

London : September 10, 1829.

. . . My stay at the Taylors’ was one of those times of
which I shall never lose the flowery memory, and I shall always
recollect the meadows and woods, the brook with its pebbles
and rustling sound ; we have become friends, I think, and I am
truly fond of the girls, and believe that they like me too, for we
were very happy together. I owe them three of my best piano-
compositions. When the two younger sisters saw that I took
the carnations and rose in earnest, and began to write music
(of course in Susan’s summer-house), the youngest came up with
little yellow open bells in her hair, assuring me they were
trumpets, and asking me whether I could not introduce them
into the orchestra, as I had talked the other day of wanting new
instruments ; and when in the evening we danced to the miners’
music and the trumpets were rather shrill, she gave it as her
opinion that her trumpets would do better to dance to, so I
wrote a dance for her—but the yellow flower-bells supplied the
music. And for the other sister I composed ‘ The Rivulet,’ which
had pleased us so much during our ride that we dismounted
and sat down by it (I think I wrote about it to you). The last
piece I believe is the best I have done in that way: it is so flowing
and quiet, and drowsily simple, that I have played it to myself
every day, and have got quite sentimental over it. I would
send you the pieces, but as I hope to have my quartet finished
by next post-day, and intend sending it you, and must bring
home something new in December, I shall keep back my five
pieces—not ‘ lions,’ as Rebecca calls them, but 4 darlings ’ of
mine. One of them I have not even got in manuscript.
Yes, children, you may be scandalised, I do nothing but flirt,
and that in English ! But seriously, it was a happy time, and
passed very quickly. I drove away in the evening; the
lights in the house sparkled through the bushes in theA RENCONTRE ON THE ROAD.

225

distance; in my open carriage I passed by several favourite
places, the gentle brook already mentioned, the last hedge of
the property, and then off I went at furious English speed. I
snubbed all my travelling companions, spoke not a word, but
kept quiet, half dreaming, half thinking, a little gloomy, just as
I think one always is when one. goes along two hundred miles in
a mail. It appeared almost like a magic-lantern of chance when
on the second evening of my journey (I travelled right through,
in order to reach London in the morning) the mail stopped,
because it met the mail from London to Chester, and, putting
my head out of the window while the two coachmen were
talking, I saw peeping out of the other mail Fr. Cramer and
his daughter (you remember Miss Marian ?). Exchange a few
words, then drive asunder, and part for years or longer—such
is the world; moving onwards, meeting, coming near, and going
far away. On my arrival in London I resumed my quiet life,
which consists in writing music and reading English. My
quartet is now in the middle of the last movement, and I think
will be completed in a few days; so will be the organ piece for
the wedding. Then (D.V.) I shall begin my Reformation-sym-
phony, the Scotch symphony, and Hebrides matter, all shaping
themselves gradually. Vocal music too moves in my head, but
I shall take good care not to say what kind and how. The
dementis sent me back on the day of my arrival the same beau-
tiful piano I had during my former stay; and as I asked Mr.
Collard to let me have it on hire this time, he sent me a few
English verses and begged me to set them to music. This is
hard for me, but I must.

The following letter,1 written after his death by a member
of tbe Taylor family, gives a very good idea of the impression
Felix made on his hospitable friends at Coed Du.

It was in tbe year 1829 that we first became acquainted
with Mr. Mendelssohn. He was introduced to us by my aunt

1 Reprinted by permission from the Dictionary of Music and Musicians
(Macmillan & Co.), article * Mendelssohn,’ vol. ii. p. 264

VOL. I.	Q226

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

Mrs. Austin, who had well known his cousin Professor Mendels-
sohn at Bonn. He visited us early in the season in Bedford
Row, but our real friendship began at Coed Du, which was
a house near Mold in Flintshire, rented for many years by my
father, Mr. John Taylor.

Mr. Mendelssohn came down there to spend a little time
with us, in the course of a tour in England and Scotland.
My father and mother received him kindly, as they did every-
body ; but his arrival created no particular sensation, as many
strangers came to our house to see the mines under my father’s
management, and foreigners were often welcomed there. Soon,
however, we began to find that a most accomplished mind had
come among us, quick to observe, delicate to distinguish. We
knew little about his music, but the wonder of it grew upon us ;
and I Temember one night, when my two sisters and I went to
our room, how we began saying to each other : ‘ Surely this
must be a man of genius. ... we can’t be mistaken about the
music ; never did we hear any one play so before. Yet we know
the best London musicians. Surely by-and-by we shall hear that
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy is a great name in the world.’

My father’s birthday happened while Mr. Mendelssohn was
with us. There was a grand expedition to a distant mine, up
among the hills ; a tent carried up there, a dinner to the miners.
We had speeches and health-drinkings, and Mendelssohn
threw himself into the whole thing as if he had been one of
us. He interested himself in hearing about the condition and
way of life of the Welsh miners. Nothing was lost upon him.
A letter that he wrote to my brother John just after he left
Coed Du charmingly describes the impressions he carried away
of that country. Sometimes he would go out sketching with
us girls, sitting down very seriously to draw, but making the
greatest fun of attempts which he considered to be unsuc-
cessful. One figure of a Welsh girl he imagined to be like a
camel, and she was called ‘ the camel ’ accordingly. Though he
scorned his own drawings, he had the genuine artist-feeling,
and great love for pictures. I need not say how deeply he
entered into the beauty of the hills and the woods. His way of
representing them was not with the pencil; but in the eveningMISS TAYLOR'S LETTER.

227

his improvised music would show what he had observed or felt
in the past day. The piece called ‘ The Rivulet,’ which he
wrote at that time for my sister Susan, will show what I mean:
it was a recollection of a real actual * rivulet.’

We observe how natural objects seemed to suggest music to
him. There was in my sister Honora’s garden a pretty creeping
plant, new at the time, covered with little trumpet-like flowers.
He was struck with it, and played for her the music which (he
said) the fairies might play on those trumpets. When he wrote
out the piece (called a capriccio in E minor) he drew a little
branch of that flower all up the margin of the paper.

The piece (an Andante and Allegro) which Mr. Mendelssohn
wrote for me was suggested by the sight of a bunch of carna-
tions and roses. The carnations that year were very fine with
us. He liked them best of all the flowers, would have one
often in his button-hole. We found he intended the arpeggio-
passages in that composition as a reminder of the sweet scent
of the flower rising up.

Mr. Mendelssohn was not a bit4 sentimental,’ though he had
so much sentiment. Nobody enjoyed fun more than he, and
his laughing was the most joyous that could be. One evening
in hot summer we stayed in the wood above our house later than
usual. We had been building a house of fir branches in Susan’s
garden up in the wood. We made a fire a little way off it
in a thicket among the trees, Mendelssohn helping with the
utmost zeal, dragging up more and more wood; we tired our-
selves with our merry work; we sat down round our fire, the
smoke went off, the ashes were glowing, it began to get dark, but
we could not like to leave our bonfire. ‘ If we had but some
music.’ Mendelssohn said, ‘ Could anybody get something to
play on ? ’ Then my brother recollected that we were near the
gardener’s cottage, and that the gardener had a fiddle. Off rushed
our boys to get the fiddle. When it came it was the wretchedest
thing in the world, and it had but one string. Mendelssohn
took the instrument into his hands, and fell into fits of laughter
over it when he heard the sounds it made. His laughter was
very catching, he put us all into peals of merriment. But he
somehow afterwards brought beautiful music out of the poor228

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

old fiddle, and we sat listening to one strain after another, till
the darkness sent us home.

My cousin John Edward Taylor was staying with us at
that time. He had composed an imitation Welsh air, and he
was before breakfast playing this over, all unconscious that Mr.
Mendelssohn (whose bedroom was next the drawing-room) was
hearing every note. That night, when we had music as usual,
Mr. Mendelssohn sat down to play. After an elegant prelude,
and with all possible advantage, John Edward heard his poor
little air introduced as the subject of the evening. And having
dwelt upon it, and adorned it in every graceful manner,
Mendelssohn in his pretty playful way, bowing to the composer,
gave all the praise to him.

I suppose some of the charm of his speech might lie in the
unusual choice of words which he, as a German, made in
speaking English. He lisped a little. He used an action of
nodding his head quickly, till the long locks of hair would fall
over his high forehead with the vehemence of his assent to any-
thing he liked.

Sometimes he used to talk very seriously with my mother.
Seeing that we brothers and sisters lived lovingly together and
with our parents, he spoke about this to my mother, told her
how he had known families where it was not so, and used the
words, 4 You know not how happy you are.’

He was so far away from any sort of pretension, or from
making a favour of giving his music to us, that one evening
when the family from a neighbouring house came to dinner,
and we had dancing afterwards, he took his turn in playing
quadrilles and waltzes with the others. He was the first person
who taught us gallopades, and he first played us Weber’s last
waltz. He enjoyed dancing like any other young man of his
age. He was then twenty years old. He had written his
4 Midsummer-night’s Dream ’ (Overture) before that time. I
well remember his playing it. He left Coed Du early in Sep-
tember 1829.

We saw Mr. Mendelssohn whenever he came to England,
but the visits he made to us in London have not left so much
impression on me as that one at Coed Du did. I can, however,• HIS ACCIDENT.

229

call to mind a party at my father’s in Bedford Bow, where he
was present. Sir George Smart was there also. When the latter
was asked to play, he said to my mother, £ No, no, don’t call
upon the old post-horse when you have a high-mettled young
racer at hand.’ The end of it was a duet played by Sir
George and Mr. Mendelssohn together. Our dear old master,
Mr. Attwood, often met him at our house. Once he went with
us to a ball at Mr. Attwood’s at Norwood. Returning by day-
light, I remember how Mr. Mendelssohn admired the view of
St. Paul’s in the early dawn, which we got from Blackfriars
Bridge. But the happiest visit to us was that one when he
first brought his sweet young wife to see my mother. Madame
Felix Mendelssohn was a bride then, and we all of us said he
could not have found one more worthy of himself. And with
the delightful remembrance of his happiness then I will end
these fragments.

In London Felix was upset from a carriage on September 17,
and injured his knee so seriously that all his plans were
destroyed, and his departure from England was delayed for two
months, until the end of November. He had intended to meet
his father in Holland and travel back with him through
Holland and Belgium, to be present at Fanny’s wedding on the
3rd of October. Instead of that a long and painful illness kept
him in London, which, however, was relieved and sweetened
by the devoted love of Klingemann, who went at once to stay
with him, and by the friendship and sympathy of all his
English acquaintances.

Felix to Fanny.

London : September 25, 1829.

This then is the last letter that will reach you before the
wedding, and for the last time I address you as Miss Fanny
Mendelssohn Bartholdy. I have a good deal to say, but am
not fit for much writing yet. Although I began yesterday
to sit up a little, and can therefore write better and smaller, my
head is still quite dizzy from this long lying in bed and thinking
of nothing, and the more I wish to compress into this letter the230

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

quicker it vanishes, past recall. You know that it is the same
with me, whether I express it well or badly, or not at all; but
I feel as if I had lost all control over what I once knew,
and my various thoughts about the coming change and new
order of things, which would at other times have dissolved into
one strain as soon as I began to write to you, are now straying
hither and thither in wild confusion. But so it is; and when
we see daily how all trifling occurrences, which one pictures to
oneself, are delayed, augmented, or annihilated by reality, we
stand still with awe and humility before a real event in life.
With awe, and yet with joyful confidence. Live and prosper,
get married and be happy, shape your household so that I
shall find you in a beautiful home when I come (that will
not be long), and remain yourselves, you two, whatever storms
may rage outside. However, I know you both, and that is enough.
Whether I address my sister henceforward as Mademoiselle or
Madame is of no consequence. What is there in a name!

Indeed I have learnt now that we ought to be afraid of
the slightest project and rejoice at the smallest success; it all
depends on a coincidence of fortune. I wrote to you from
Llangollen, how it came to pass that my two first days with-
out Klingemann became very cheerful ones, and they were
days which I had anticipated with dread from the very be-
ginning of our journey: people, scenery, hours to which I bad
long joyfully looked forward, were in reality cold, unenjoyed,
sometimes disagreeable; the smallest pleasures were disap-
pointed by mere chance, and great pleasures came to our
share for the same reason; and all and everything happened
differently from w7hat I had expected, desired, feared. Such I
have ever experienced it, and such it will ever be. But instead
of this making me apprehensive or anxious, it inspires me with
courage, and, far from being afraid of little projects, I take
up great projects with confidence. And so farewell ill winter.

Much better things I ought to have written, but it will not
do. Say what you like, body and mind are too closely con-
nected. I saw it the other day with real vexation when they
bled me, and all those free and fresh ideas which I had before
trickled drop by drop into the basin, and I became weak andBROODINGS IN SICKNESS.

231

weary. Klingemann’s epigram proves also how they rob me of
the little bit of poetry left; and this letter shows it—I am sure
in every line it is written that I may not bend my leg. But
when once I am well again, then I will fly away from here, for
now I have had enough of the smoky nest, and will again set
out, to the west and to the south.1 I have no longer a clear
idea of our dinner-table at home, nor of Sunday evening among
all the dear faces. I never feel more home-sick than when I
dwell upon home-trifles—the round tea-table, father’s Turkish
boots, the green lamps; or when I look at my travelling-cap,
which hangs over my bed, and which I shall take off at home.
Well, the days are getting short and cold, coals are again an
item in my weekly bill, as they were when I first came ;
everybody talks of the next season, and that means spring;
things that are usually calculated by quarters are now counted
by weeks, and soon will be by days; soon I shall be free,
soon we shall meet! May I be justified in anticipating a joyful
time to come; and whatever blessed and happy thing G-od can
send to His children, may He grant to you, and give you
beautiful, never-to-be-forgotten days I

Klingemann.—

First of all my best greeting to the whole house ! Oh,
that it should come to this, that you must all of you cry out
upon the joint letters, which only tried to prove that you will
be the poorer for one sweet wedding-guest, who still sits—or
lies (as it happens)—in the big town of London, and is unable
to circulate independently, gallopading and dancing. But the
poor joint letters are not to blame for it; he wants a week now
before he can get up (we make the best of the time), another
week before he can walk about the room, and another last
week before he can be set afloat; and I might be tempted to
turn rogue, and bribe Dr. Kind to prolong the fortnight to
three weeks, in which I would make my parting companion
play me the most exquisite farewell banquets and concluding
dances; but I will not. Once every day he indulges in. bitter
irony against fate; when he orders his frugal meal, he gives

The great journey to Italy and France.232

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

his orders in sneering expressions, saying for instance, ‘To-
day I want for my luxurious dinner,’ etc. Whereupon the
fat servant-girl, who has not been instructed in satire, asks
in a bewildered manner, ‘ Sir ? ’ When she hears, however,
that ‘ mutton chops ’ are contained in the bill of fare, she
smiles benevolently, for she understands this purely human
scale of bodily health, and discerns in it a variation on the
sweet theme—recovery. Altogether no one must say a word
against the lower class of English : all through this trouble the
landlord’s family are kind and helpful, and my own people
inquire daily and with great concern after my friend. Gold-
schmidt procures us some pleasure or other every day. I did
much myself towards cheering up my patient, by cutting off
to-day a pair of whiskers of rare beauty, in this way putting
on a negative disguise; and now I shiver.

The engagement-epigrams are now over ; but I revolve in
my mind a new collection, on ‘ Serious Occurrences in Life,’
and so I made the following sick-room verses, based on a real
event:—

Jala]} ( Convolvulus Jalapa, you know the plant ?)

The patient turns over the leaves of a book,

On a pale, blue flower he gazes,

She gathered it lately for him by the brook,

A sad, sweet longing it raises I
Why do you sigh at that pale, blue flower ?

Is the doctor’s wondering question ;

You swallow it down in your pill every hour,

And it gently promotes your digestion.

And so this is the last letter (I say with Felix, speaking to
Miss Fanny) in which we roving young bachelors may call you
one of our order. May you have delightful sunshine outside
and inside, and may none but lovely notes ring in your ear.
May the clergyman keep his oration within proper bounds, and
not try to affect you too much. In autumn, about the third of
October, should be everybody’s wedding-day; that would be a
capital leap, by which to get at once from summer into spring :
what is to become of winter as winter, I, for my part, do not
see. What can the warm stove be to a young couple, except a
merry charcoal-kiln, in which they roast their paradise-apples ?WEDDING GREETINGS.

233

Ah, dear me, why are these times so quiet, and why does
Hanover meddle so little with the Turkish affairs ? Setting
aside the detriment to historians, our embassy despatches no
couriers! A smart little war, that would occasion my going to
Berlin in December with despatches, should receive warm
acknowledgment, be neatly described, and bound in gold. Felix
and I have been deliberating this morning, but I doubt whether
we shall bring about the political confusion out of which this
poetical harmony might arise; and yet I should be so necessary
at Berlin, inasmuch as I should enjoy myself most divinely.
Things never happen as one thinks they will, therefore perhaps
this may come to pass. The rest is silence with Klingemann.

Felix.—

London : October 9, 1829.

. E dare say everything about you looks gay, lively, and
beautiful. If I could but for one moment look in over there, and
see all the new splendour, the whole fresh life, all the changes,
and every trifle, which to me would seem important enough !
for everything which I thought so much about beforehand
is now over, and the young couple are having their honey-
moon.

Time goes swiftly as an arrow, although the minutes
linger; the morning flies away; about noon visitors come;
Klingemann is always with me, and I shall never be able to
thank him enough for making me so happy now. Then again
twilight comes on, then again the fat servant-girl comes with
my dinner, and the long thin rushlight burns again before my
bed, and then again I look whether morning will dawn soon.
So and so many more thin rushlights, and I am with you again.
I wish I were there now!

You cannot think how kind the English people are to
me. As I cannot do justice to books, and am not allowed
to eat meat, they load me with fruit and all kinds of sweets.

‘ We ought to keep account of the strange dishes and establish
a larder,’ says Klingemann. Lady Moller especially aims at
over-feeding me, and as Sir Lewis, who comes to see me every
day, is a famous gourmand, you may fancy what the puddingsFELIX IN ENGLAND.

23+

and jellies are like which she sends me. Yesterday a great
hamper arrived from Mr. Attwood in Surrey; on the top
there were splendid flowers, which are now smelling deliciously
round my fireside. Under the flowers lay a large pheasant;
under the pheasant, a quantity of apples for pies, etc. Mr.
Hawes appeared this morning with grapes, than which I never
saw any finer or more beautiful. Dance sends me two home-
made cakes from his old wife, ‘because I praised them one
day at her house.’ Goschen sends beautiful strawberries, and
everybody shows me kindness. You will feel somewhat moved
when you hear that my former landlord called the other day,
and finding me in bed went quietly away and returned the same
evening with his wife’s compliments and my favourite dishes, of
which she had taken note, a plum-pudding and a kind of rusk,
and that he appeared again yesterday at dinner-time with a fish
and a ‘ German soup,’ which I relished very much. Excuse all
these eating details, they are my only amusement at present.

London : November 6, 1829.

I have just come home from my first drive, which I took
with Klingemann. Air and sun are good things. I feel tired
and exhausted, and yet so refreshed, healthier than ever. When
I came slowly downstairs and the street-door opened once
more before me, and the landlord’s family stepped out of their
rooms and congratulated me, and the driver offered me his
arm to get into the carriage, an agreeable sensation came over
me; but when we turned round the corner and the sun shone
on me and the sky did me the favour to look a deep blue, I
had for the first time in my life a conscious feeling of health,
because I had never before missed it so long, London was in-
describably beautiful. The red and brown chimney-pots con-
trasting so sharply with the blue sky, and all colours glowing,
the shops looking so gay, the by-streets and background
enveloped in blue mist, the full green bushes I last saw from
my gig now transformed to stiff bare rods, and no green left
except the grass, and the wavy line of Piccadilly clad in bright
sunshine—so much life everywhere gave me a strange but veryTHE FIRST DRIVE OUT.

235

agreeable impression, and I felt tbe power of returning health,
I shall bring home with me a very dear memory of this town,
and when I shall leave it outside the stage (or rather inside,
for I am a 4 burnt child ’) I shall look back many a time and
think of the pleasure I have had here. For indeed it does one’s
heart good when people are friendly and set store by one, and
it makes me quite happy to be able to say that they do so here
by me. My stay has not been in vain, and the time will ever
remain dear to me.

As you were pleased with what I wrote to you of my old
landlord, the ironmonger, I will tell you some more of him:
I had not seen him for a week, when he came one day and
apologised for not having been here for so long. But he
had been prevented by building a new kitchen and oven in his
house; to-day his wife had done her first baking in the oven,
and she sent me a cake that I might decide whether it was not
better even than the produce of the former one.

Your letters have reached me, my dear parents, in which
you appear so anxious about me, and you, my dear father, even
talk of coming all this long way to me. What can I say to
that ? But, as matters stand between you and me (alas I or
rather thank God!), once for all let me leave unexpressed my
thanks and affection, otherwise I shall be always speaking of
them and of nothing else; for I owe you all and everything,
and so let my present feelings also be buried in silence. If
but words were not so cold !—especially, written words!

In her letter of October 27, which I received only to-day,
by Hamburg, Fanny scolds me for my impatience. That is
missing the mark, for since the third week of my illness a lazy
apathy has' taken hold of me, which goes beyond all limits. I
could now sit a whole day long on the sofa and do nothing.
The other day I sat for half an hour alone in the twilight and
thought of nothing at all, an undertaking over which I should
at other times infallibly have fallen asleep; now, however, I
carried it out wide awake and comfortable. I am reading the
whole latter part of the eighteenth century: Kotzebue, Iffiand,
Meissner, Engel; part of Schilling, and three pages of Clauren
I have also read, etc. In short, if I did but smoke a long pipe236

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

and had a nightcap on my head, I might well, with my crutches
in the background, pass for a hearty old uncle taken with the
gout.

At last Felix spent some time for the re-estahlishment of his
health at Norwood, Surrey, with his old friend Mr. Attwood,
and from there he wrote on November 15 :—

By the gods, not in vain shall the Attwoods have put this
paper on my table, with sealing-wax, pens, and all. After
my last letter of the day before yesterday I will write a very
last one, the more so as I must tell you how glad I am that
you like my ‘ Hora.’ Your lines especially, my dearest father,
have touched me to the quick; and each time you tell me that
you like some music of mine, I feel as if I were twice as fond of
that piece, or as if I had written it again and just finished it.

I must above all things describe the place. This is Nor-
wood, famous for good air, for it lies on a hill as high as the
cross on St. Paul’s—so say the Londoners—and I am sitting
late at night in my own little room, with the wind howling
wildly outside my window, whilst the chimney fire burns very
quietly. I have had a walk of two miles to-day, and the air
has really had a very salutary effect on me: in the three days
that I have been here I can feel how much stronger and
healthier I have become.

I look forward with great pleasure to hearing the ‘Hora’
by the Akademie. It pleases Attwood very much. But no-
thing carries the day like your portraits, my sisters; the
young English gentlemen perform St. Vitus’s dance when I
bring them down under my arm and show them once every
evening; the young English ladies say again and again, ‘ Sweet
creatures! ’ and I say, ‘ They are indifferent pretty indeed ’; in
short, if Hensel will come to England, the Attwood family and
their circle are a sure card for him ; he will have to do all their
portraits, for his ‘ style ’ is not the last which they are in
ecstasies about.

In my bedroom luckily stands old Attwood’s music-cupboard,
with the key in it; so I rummage among the music-books;MR. ATT WOOD'S MUSIC-CUPBOARD.

237

and after finding the other day no end of Te Deums by Croft, and
twenty anthems of Boyce’s and Purcell’s psalms, what should
meet my eyes in three big volumes but 4 Euryanthe. Score ’!
That was a find ! Now I am reading it through very carefully
and enjoying it. The old gentleman ordered it over from
Germany to get better acquainted with it than from the arrange-
ment. I shall copy one passage from it, as it is very curious ;
it is the one in G flat, 4 Der du die Unschuld kennst ’ (4 Thou
who know’st innocence’). You know, Fanny, how I always
maintained that that passage sounded more like brass than
anything else. And what do I find ? M. de Weber gives it
to the three trombones, trumpets, two horns in E flat, and—
two horns in D flat! ! ! Is not that mad ? And sweet flutes
everywhere. It is lovely music, and it seems strange to me that
I should get so well acquainted with Weber’s favourite work here
in England, where nobody knows it or can know it, and where
they really treated him shamefully, and where he died. Cheru-
bini’s Requiem I have found too, and other things, and so the
time passes very agreeably.

P. S. from Klingemann.—

In Berlin such a procession would have occasioned a whole
week’s tpwn and table talk—I mean the procession that moved
yesterday through the fields about Norwood without any dis-
turbance of public order and Sabbath-regulations. In Norwood
lives one of the most distinguished donkeys that ever ate
thistles (but he lives only on corn), a plump, milk-white animal,
full of vivacity and talent, appointed to draw a very diminutive
four-wheeled vehicle. It has been brought up by one of Mr.
Attwood’s sons, William, the theologian. In the said vehicle
sat Felix; the donkey trotted briskly along the road, several
dogs frisked about the conveyance, on both sides or behind
strode through thick and thin, uphill, downhill, the divine and
myself, the former looking proudly conscious of his trotting
and indefatigable donkey, and only complaining that he, the
divine, had to read so many dry books in order to pass his
theological examination. On our way home we were joined by
another brother, with the sister and another dog. Felix got out238

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

of his carriage and walked with us, and a caravan, consisting of
one lady, four young men, the vehicle with the milk-white
donkey, and three dogs, moved placidly up the hill and into the
village, a glorious subject for artists—a subject that would have
made an immortal work. The whole family consist of originals,
and we modern ones must once more copy Groethe and think
of the 4 Vicar of Wakefield,’ though there is only one daughter
here. No one resembles the other, each carries on his own in-
dividual pursuit, and yet a family likeness pervades them all.

Then followed our dinner in London. There is little to be
said about it, except that Felix afterwards performed a duet
with Mrs. Anderson, and earned great applause. He then van-
ished to Norwood, leaving behind him, in opposition to the
evil one, the odour of his 4 high talents ’ and of 4 the perfect
gentleman.’ You can hardly realise abroad how much an
English lady expresses by that; it contains volumes of acknow-
ledgment. I assure you that, if the great Apollo came him-
self, playing irresistibly on his lyre, and yet perhaps as a free-
thinking Greek omitted to drink wine with the lady of the
house, he would incur the greatest anathema of the civilised
world—4 He is no gentleman.’

Felix.—

Hotel Quillacq, Calais : November 29, 1829.

So England lies behind me, and my visit is past and gone.
It is a beautiful and beloved land, and, when its white coast
disappeared and the black French coast came in view, I felt
as if I had taken leave of a friend, and as if all the dear, kind
people were once more nodding to me. It was a grand picture.
But now it is past. I may call my last fortnight in London the
happiest and richest which I have enjoyed there. Horn, to
whom I could show everything, and who enjoyed and admired
all with me, through whom I received the great impressions of
London anew, and who soon felt at home among my friends,
contributed much to my happiness. Late every evening there
assembled in my room a circle of people such as may rarely meet
again. Rosen, Miihlenfels, Klingemann, Kind, and Horn—it
was delightful 1 What animated and merry conversation weHIS LONDON FRIENDS.

239

kept up, with nothing insipid or spurious—a jury formed
sometimes to decide on the questions! They sparkled and
darted flakes of fire when roused, and they were all of different
character and divers views, and yet on certain points at one
with each other. Really when I came home at night, know-
ing that I should find them all sitting round the fireplace (it
was as late as eleven o’clock when we used to meet), I entered
my room feeling singularly happy. I did not come from par-
ties, as at the time of the turbulent season, but from smaller
and more intimate circles of my English acquaintance, where
one remarkable, interesting, glorious moment followed another.
Sometimes one feels that some never-to-be-forgotten thing is
just going to happen,and such a feeling I had often. Oh, how
much shall I have to tell you ! How shall I ever get done, with
only one mouth?240

FELIX IN ENGLAND.

* 1830-1834.

In coarse of time Hensel and Fanny came near the end
of their wishes: the wedding-day was fixed, and on the
6th of September their bans were read for the first time.
Abraham was travelling in Hamburg and Holland, and sent
beautiful wedding-presents from there. His daughter thanked
him in a letter interesting with regard to the fashions of that
period.

Berlin : September 19, 1829.

. . . We have been so long without news of you, dear
father, that our letters must take their chance of reaching
their destination. The day before yesterday we sent one to
Frankfort, and if we do not hear from you to-day this one will
go there too. But instead of hearing from you, we have seen
something from you, for your famous box has arrived, and its
contents surpass anything I could have imagined. Again you
have brilliantly displayed your taste and your munificence;
everything is the most beautiful of its kind that I have ever seen,
the embroideries, materials, and patterns all perfect; I am sure
Nathan the Wise could not have brought home anything more
exquisite from his travels 1 The beautiful veil has created a
great sensation in the female minds, and gives us much agitation,
veils not being the fashion here for brides. But I like a veil, I
think it is so beautiful and fit for the occasion, and it would be
especially suitable for me on account of my red neck. There-
fore I have the greatest mind to wear it and be the first—sure
enough not to be the last. All the people at home, Hensel and
many others, also advised me to do so, but then again we feared
it would make a show—in short, the cause is still pending.
Ribbons, shawls, everything is most beautiful, and once more I
thank you with all my heart.FANNY’S WEDDING.

241

We are very busy at present, and pass our mornings mostly
in the shops, and I cannot enough admire my indefatigable
mother. She appears never to be better, never more in her
element, than when she can hardly fetch her breath with busi-
ness. I find it almost impossible to tell her how grateful I
feel, or else I must do nothing all day long but thank her. I
will thank her in this letter, and she may read it. To you I
owe the same gratitude, of which, however deeply I have always
felt, I have never been so intensely conscious as now when I
am going to leave, not—thank Heaven and you—the paternal
roof, but at least your immediate guardianship.

The wedding was celebrated on the 3rd of October 1829.
Fanny had composed her own wedding anthem for the organ,
which was played in the church previous to the ceremony.
Wilmsen preached the sermon. All the friends of course were
present. Felix’s absence was the only cloud on Fanny’s happi-
ness. In everything but this the young couple began their
married life under the happiest auspices, which have not proved
fallacious.

Hensel had been making great plans for the first year,
to which Fanny, although rather incredulous, lent a willing ear.
We know how ardently she had longed to see Italy in 1822,
when the family were in Switzerland. Now she had married a
man who, by his five years’ residence, was thoroughly acquainted
with that country, and who burned to show it to his wife. And
as Hensel in his excitable artistic imagination was more prone
to indulge illusions than face the reality of circumstances,
he conceived the idea of a Prussian Academy at Home after
the model of the French one, an appointment to which he
considered within his easy reach. He soon resolved to leave
Berlin and undertake a journey to Italy. This plan, charming
in itself, received an additional attraction by the following
further combination. Felix was, as we know, after leaving
England and paying a short visit at Berlin, also to come to
Italy, and he again intended to persuade his parents to form
a travelling plan with the rest of the family. He wrote to
Rebecca on the subject:—
vol. 1.	R243

1830-1834.

Glasgow: August 10, 1829.

My dearest Rebecca,—Now listen ! I want to have a nice
talk with you about the next time to come, of which at the
present moment I certainly know more than you, for I am
painting an elaborate ideal picture of it which I am going to
lay before you. That is why I write, or rather sit down on the
sofa beside you and whisper into your ear, quite softly. My
voice reaches you all the way from Glasgow, and for the
moment distance has ceased to exist, for you have no idea how I
love you and how near you I must be in thought, at least, to
be happy; how I owe you every happy hour, and shall never
think or feel different all my life. Never 1 You may build a
strong house on me, I shall hold firm. But it is strange that I
could not write a note if you were not in the world, nor should
I care to live. Good evening, darling Rebecca ! Now listen to
my great plan, but tell nobody ! for not a soul has heard about
it but you, nor shall any one know anything of it until I
realise it. We two will keep our secret, and then suddenly take
the others by surprise. If you will initiate Fanny and Hensel,
you may—perhaps you may even think it necessary; but they
are the only ones—with all the others you must be a model of
discretion. Now the conference between us two begins. The
rest of this letter is our secret.

I. I shall come to Berlin a little earlier and stay a little
longer than I had thought I would: the reasons why, you and
all the others shall hear from me when I come, and I know you
will approve of them. Then I shall go to Italy in February,
but my absence will not be one of three or four years, as was
intended—no, not even quite so long as this has been. The
reason is simply this: I shall have to compose a great deal and
well, which I can and will not do unless I am with you. And
then, suppose I continue my travels, to Berlin I shall always
come for composing ; then again go away and play my music to
the people abroad, and return to you and compose, and again
exhibit, and so on for some time ; after which we must remain
together, and for a long time, for if possible I shall settle at
Berlin. Thus, I hope, for the next few years we shall havePLANS FOR SEEING ITALY.

243

many joyful meetings, in ever new happiness, and I like the
prospect.

Now for—

II. I, by the grace of God F. M. B., Esquire, I will persuade
our parents to go .to Italy next spring and pay me a visit at
Rome with you about Easter. I will it, and I believe I shall
succeed. Do not doubt of the possibility, for I have turned the
matter over and over in my mind and found it feasible. I will
tell you how. Father has long desired to see Italy, only he
could not make up his mind to the troublesome journey, of
which mother is also afraid. Now when I come home I shall
be the pet of the family, and be able, as you well know, to
extort a lot of things ; mother moreover will be favourably in-
clined for Italy when she knows part of her family are there, and
I shall carry the final decision by, storm (well knowing my ins
and outs). As for the travelling inconveniences, I can do much
to alleviate them; for the Highlands have given me an experi-
ence of such hardships, and I know how to manage them ;
besides, I shall come a long way to meet you. I am pre-
paring a surprise for all of you into the bargain, which is
likely to gain much credit for me and support my entreaties;
it is still uncertain, I can therefore say no more about it, but
you will see. It will come forth either on December ll,1 or
on the silver wedding. In my mind I have prepared every-
thing, and it is my greatest wish. I shall manage prudently,
and trust in God to help me. Now hear what you have got to
do towards it: nothing whatever. Be silent about it all, as
if I had never written to you. Rather change the conversation
when it turns on Italy, and do not allow Fanny and Hensel
to petition father and mother about it. I will take them by
surprise, that is the best chance of success. But try and find
out the merits of Hensel’s plan—say that I urge him strongly in
this letter. If you want to answer me, write to Klingemann’s,
and post it yourself. If you’ve nothing to answer, don’t
answer. Now what do you think of all this ? A golden time
we shall have, and a wreath of lovely days. How we will
enjoy ourselves in the Vatican ! For come to Italy you will
1 The father’s birthday.244

1830-1834-

and shall, and then everything will be beautiful. I hear you
say that you know father and mother and the garden, and
nothing can come of it. But I say I also know father and
mother, and Italy is also a garden, and something will come of it.

Now we have done and I leave the room, you catch hold of
me by my coat-tails and yet I tear myself away, but of course
peep in at the door again directly after. You ask whether
you will have two rooms of your own next winter. No, for I
want one of them, and am going to paint again when I am
at home. Good-bye. Think of Italy. Our meeting again is
close at hand. I am full of spirits, and strains of manifold
music are humming in my head. To a happy meeting, then !
And success to our hopes !	Your Brother.

The same subject is continued in another letter to the sister
and brother, where we also find the first allusions to the
Liederspiel, by which Felix hoped to gain his point.

35 Bury Street, St. James’s: September 10, 1829.

e The thing is this ’ is the favourite phrase by which a young
lady whom you and I, dear brother, esteem very much, will intro-
duce her reports, and then nothing will follow. Now I make
use of this expression with the difference that I am her brother,
and that something very important does follow. The thing is
this: that a committee must be formed for the arrangement of
silver solemnities. Formerly I had thought of Fanny as our
president, but in her very first suggestion she has shown so much
consideration for a certain family (for instance, 4 evening among
ourselves at Hensel’s, dinner at the Hensels’,’ etc.) that I declare
her guilty of partiality, and in punishment of her crime depose
her; appointing Rebecca to the office of a chairman: you and
Fanny and I regular members, Droysen an honorary member,
and Klingemann a corresponding member. Now for it. I
request leave to make a proposal. What do you think of
solemnising the silver-wedding eve in the following manner—
three operettas, each in one act, with costumes, scenery, etc., a
regular representation and complete orchestra ? (I will furnish
the orchestra during the whole wedding festival, and am
speculating already for that purpose.) The operettas to be asPLANS FOR THE SILVER WEDDING.

245

follows. No 1. ‘ Soldier’s Love,’ my famous work of that name,1
to which father and mother are still partial, to be performed
without the slightest alteration, and by the same persons as
before. Is it a good idea ? Then a new operetta by Fanny,
for which Hensel must write the words, pretty, airy, lovely
throughout, very tender and beautiful. Then an idyll by my-
self : all sorts of ideas are stirring in my head, it must be pretty.
A sober married couple is to appear in it, acted by you two
Hensels, a neighbour’s daughter, a mad watchman, a disguised
sailor or soldier, I don’t know yet! A peasants’ procession and
A major all over. The intervals may be filled up with ices and
cakes, allegory, prologue, and epilogue. I think this will
amuse father and mother much more than a simple instrumental
concert. For the rest of my plans I will refrain for this time,
because I must first hear yours, and your approval of mine,
and beg you will let me know your ideas for the wedding-day
by return of post. This is the moment to testify to you, dear
Hensel, that you are a great man. Your drawing is exquisite,
and gives me pleasure whenever it looks at me, for it does look
at me. So genial and beautiful too, and such a good likeness!
and so very droll! Where in the world do you get such fancies ?
Fanny’s large portrait is beautiful too, but I don’t like it. I
can see how well it is drawn and how much it resembles her,
but the position, the dress, the look, the sybillic, prophet-like
inspiration, all that is not my Cantor. The reality does not
show inspiration on the surface, not in the raising of her eyes to
heaven, the gesture of her arm, or the wreath of wild flowers,
all which may be seen. at a glance. It must not be seen at a
glance, but only dawn upon one by little and little. Do not
take this amiss, Sir Court-painter; but consider that I have
known my sister longer than you, having carried her in my arms
(forgive this stretch)—ungrateful dog that I am, who cannot
even thank you properly for the sunbeams you launch over at
me from time to time. If you could see me poring over your
drawings, then in their company only and nowhere less than in
London, you would feel that as thanks. But words are nothing.

One of Felix’s first compositions.246

1830-1834-

Think of my joy at your having the gift to clothe in shape the
indistinct images which the rest of us may only treasure in our
hearts, and accept my joy as thanks.

11th.—To-day I breakfasted with Klingemann, and our
idyllic operetta makes good progress. I think it will be very
pretty, and there is a splendid part in it for you, Hensel. Don’t
be afraid of the singing, I have provided for you. The watch-
man is a fine fellow, and will suit Devrient capitally.

Now I must say a few words to you, Rebecca, my grave
ally—important words. Within the last days I have become
pretty sure that our plot will be realised, or at least that our
parents will have no objections to it: it is through a letter of
father’s that I have grown so confident. For one thing, I see
that father is reawakened to his old fondness of travelling,
which is a great matter. He says he would enjoy travelling
about with me in Holland, and, although I am rather doubt-
ful whether this plan may be carried out, it says a very great
deal. Last, not least, he appears to have given up the idea that
I ought to travel about by myself in order to learn independence,
and he lays much stress on the result of my stay in England.
That is the chief thing. Mind what I tell you, you shall behold
orange-trees. How gentle, kind, and tender father’s letter is I
cannot describe to you, nor would it be possible to describe all
his extensive travelling plans except by word of mouth. For
the present, be satisfied with the assurance that I believe in our
success. Father’s letter is a proof not to be contested. Now
you may rejoice a bit! But the injunction in my last letter
continues to hold good. Say nothing! One more thing, I
also see from father’s letter that I am to stay with you in winter
as long as we like (silence). Much good, much that is beau-
tiful and happy, is implied in this. In short, it is my belief
that when in December we are reunited we need not think of
soon parting again.

When I come home I am sure you will often talk to me
in English, to hear my pronunciation, discover blunders, etc.
But I shan’t answer you, not a word shall you hear of my cul-
tivated idiom, no ‘Never mind,’ no ‘I say.’ ‘This coat is good
enough to drink in,’ says Toby; ‘ this tongue is good enough'SON AND stranger:

247

to rasp,’ say I; and if not, you may smoke it and eat it. A
propos of eating, one of you mentioned fresh oysters the
other day, which made me melancholy, because it reminded me
of the time in spring when they become bad and are out of
season. Now I eat them from sheer melancholy, and just to
pass the time. I stopped in Eegent Street yesterday and
looked at a map of Holland, with all the bustle around me,
quietly tracing my travelling route, as the family letter has it,
and examining the road between Elberfeld and Berlin.

The operetta promises well, I think. Hensel and Fanny
are an aged couple ; Hensel hates music and Fanny hates soldiers,
and their son comes home disguised as a roving musician, but
is really a soldier; every moment he forgets his disguise and
shows himself in his real character; then the father dislikes him
because of his disguise, and the mother because of his real cha-
racter, though both cannot help feeling an affection for him.
The watchman turns all this to his own profit: he too is a
stranger, and the old couple, having received news of the return
of their son, take the watchman for him; and both secretly
manage to surprise one another with this son’s arrival on the
following day, which is Hensel’s birthday and jubilee as village
magistrate. The fellow is a clown, but they take honest pains
to love him, and shut out their real son from all intercourse
with the neighbour’s daughter, always putting forward the
watchman, who, instead of the soldier, serenades her on his
fiddle. In the morning everything is happily explained.

The piece begins in the evening under the lime-tree. The
serenade and a quarrel between the two young men take place
during the night, and it ends on the morning of the jubilee.
What do you think of these rough outlines ? More when the
time comes. Merry it will be, and merry we shall be.

Thus in the winter of 1829-30 two things went on together
—the preparation for the parents’ silver wedding (December
26), and, if we may so call it, the children’s conspiracy for the
Italian journey. The festivities, and especially the acting,
were a perfect success. The c rough outlines ’ Felix gives in his
last letter had been shaped by him into that lovely Liederspiel248

1830-1834-

‘ Die Heimkehr aus der Fremde.’1 The words were by Klinge-
mann. Hensel in his character of the village mayor created a
peculiar sensation: he had no idea of music, and Felix had there-
fore composed for him a piece on one note only. Mantius
acted the son, Devrient Kauz, Rebecca Lisbeth, Wilhelm and
Fanny the old couple. The wedding-day passed in a delightful
manner, and everything went off most successfully.

Of the Italian project we cannot say as much: it failed
in consequence of the decided opposition of mother Leah, who
disliked travelling, and was much too fond of her beautiful
house and garden to leave home without a forcible reason. Of
course there was much disappointment at the wreck of such a
delightful plan. Then in March, first Rebecca, and, after her,
Felix and Paul, took the measles, and thus consummated les
petites miseres de la vie privee of this winter, the like of
which the Mendelssohn family had never seen.

In summer 1830 an extremely delicate boy 2 was born to
the Hensels, two months before his time. For a long while it
was doubtful whether the child could live, and he required the
most careful nursing. It stands to reason that the plans of the
young couple were entirely influenced by this event, and that
all ideas of an Italian journey were put off for years. In
one respect this was certainly a blessing: it put an end to
the uncertainty and unsettledness which are too manifest in
Fanny’s diary of the first year of their married life, and drove
them to make fixed plans for their life at home, which they
contrived to make most comfortable and delightful. Abra-
ham had a studio built adjoining the garden-saloon, which
afforded Hensel the great advantage of not being obliged, like
other artists, to go out for his work. Every free moment he
could devote to his wife, and Fanny could often sit with her
work in the studio without losing sight of her household and
the child. In January 1831 he took possession of his new
painting-room, and at the same time opened a studio for pupils
in a room built contiguous to his own, and which was forthwith
frequented by several young people. These pupils were often

1	Known in England, through Mr. Chofley’s translation, as Son and Stranger.

2	The author of this book.HENSEL’S PORTRAITS.

249

invited to fetes, birthdays, and Christmas entertainments, and
contributed their part to the general amusement.

Under such happy and favourable circumstances, Hensel’s
painting could not but prosper. In the morning directly after
breakfast he went to his studio, and worked with little interrup-
tion till it got dark. After dinner, which took place at half
past four, he used in summer to take up his painting again,
or, if too dark for that, took his exercise in the garden, gener-
ally playing at Boccia, a game which he had transplanted
from Italy and was passionately fond of. The evenings, espe-
cially during winter, when the garden offered no attractions,
he devoted to pencil-drawing, and, thanks to this, his portrait-
collection became very extensive. It took its rise from small be-
ginnings. The hastily sketched likenesses were first done in his
little notebooks, then he gradually increased the size of these
portraits, and they became more beautiful and characteristic as
the artist’s ability in using the crayon and catching the likeness
developed itself. The collection in time became both famous
and voluminous, and at Hensel’s death it filled forty-seven
volumes, containing upwards of a thousand portraits.1 The
early drawings are done with a hard and pointed pencil; the
outline very sharply and distinctly traced, but rather stiff; the
execution of all the details very neat and careful, but with
too scrupulous a neatness, and a want of softness and roundness.
The lights are put in with white. The whole style betrays
the artist’s former occupation with etching, and something of
the sharpness and hardness of an engraving. He soon, however,
began to use the rubber and soft pencil, and this style he
gradually carried to high perfection, especially when employ-
ing papier pelle and producing the lights by scratching. His
manner became more and more free and broad, the hard pencil
stroke gave way to the roughness produced by rubbing, he no
longer traced sharp outlines, but expressed the forms by soft
shades ; the hair especially is of exquisite beauty. So much for
the technical treatment. In course of time they became
more like paintings, block on block, then mere drawings. An

1 They are in the author’s possession. Some of the most interesting por-
traits have been published as phototypes.250

1830 1834-

essential change in the conception of his portraits, in his idea
of a portrait-painter’s task, went hand in hand with his technical
progress. In the first volumes we recognise his aim to have
been a faithful, so to say ‘ daguerreotyped,’ rendering of the
features, which caused a total neglect of the other claims of
a portrait; his only object was an exact copy of the face.
Gradually, however, an individual artistic comprehension became
his chief motive, for which the sitters, as it were, furnished the
material. When he found a face truly characteristic, he even
in later years produced a perfectly faithful likeness. But
generally an idealising, beautifying, and juvenising tendency
prevailed, which called forth Fanny’s remark, £ Wilhelm makes
a baby out of a grandmother.’ The surroundings, such as a
landscape or an emblem (as for instance the firmament in the
portrait of Quetelet the astronomer), are intended to illustrate
the individual. Here likewise they are more pictures on a
given subject than portraits; we might call them improvisations
on a face. And nevertheless these at a first glance hardly
nominal likenesses have a singular attraction even as portraits,
and more and more as you look at them you enter into the
spiritual conception of a thinking, clever artist’s eye, and feel a
fascinating influence. The most successful ones among the
drawings of those last volumes may certainly range with
the most perfect works in this branch of art. These portrait
albums have a great intrinsic value in another respect—a value,
moreover, which must increase in a measure as time goes on:
they represent the interesting changes in fashion and costumes
for a period comprising nearly fifty years. Finally, almost all
the pictures bear the autograph signatures of the persons
represented; but this adds to the real interest of only a part,
for among the many hundreds of signatures only about a dozen
are truly fine and characteristic.

To us this collection affords a lively illustration of the
extensive social relations and hospitality of the Hensels. All
these more or less eminent persons—be their remarkable quality
genius, talent, beauty, or even rank—were more or less ac-
quainted with the Hensels and Mendelssohns. The artistic
world of course forms the largest contribution. Among theSUNDAY-MUSIC.

251

musicians we find C. M. v. Weber, Zelter, Paganini, Henselt,
Gounod, Hiller, Ernst, Liszt, Clara Schumann, Felix of course
in several representations; among the painters, Cornelius,
Ingres, Horace Vernet, Magnus, Kopisch, Verboekhoven, Kaul-
bach, Max v. Scbwindt; among actors and singers, Mesdames
Milder, Rachel-Felix, Seydelmann, Novello, Lablacbe, Grisi,
Pasta, Madame Ungher-Sabatier, Madame Schroder-Devrient.
Literature is represented by La Motte Fouque, Theodor
Korner, Cl. Brentano, Bettina v. Arnim, E. T. A. Hoffmann,
Tieck, Varnhagen, H. Heine, Goethe, Steffens, Mrs. Austin,
Paul Heyse. We find Thorwaldsen, Rauch, and Kiss, the
sculptors, Schinkel the architect, Hegel, Gans, Bunsen,
Humboldt, Jacob Grimm, Lepsius, Boeckh, Quetelet, Jacoby,
Dirichlet, Ranke, Ehrenberg, etc. Nearly all the portraits
were taken in the evening, during music or animated conver-
sation, sometimes without even the knowledge of the originals.
It was this which gave Hensel’s pictures so much life and
naturalness: he would not have a stiff, weary 4 sitting,’ and
allowed people to move and talk as they liked. And if he had
a peculiar talent for rendering life, he also possessed the gift of
representing death in its solemn, grave beauty—a gift which
stood proof in moments of the greatest affliction. To how
many mourners has he been able to afford a melancholy com-
fort by this precious talent, especially in his own family! More
beautiful portraits can hardly be seen than those of Schinkel,
Fanny, and Felix in their last repose ; in fact, that of Felix is
the only really good portrait existing of him.

The Sunday-music at that time began to be a regular insti-
tution, and to show at once a tendency to become extensive.
These musical parties were to Fanny what the albums were
to her husband. From small beginnings, a holiday, or the
meeting of a few intimate friends on a Sunday morning, by-
and-by arose regular concerts, with choral and solo-singing,
trios and quartets, of the best Berlin musicians, and before an
audience that filled all the rooms. For many years it was the
correct thing in the musical circles of Berlin—and, alas, the
unmusical as well!—to have access to these matinees. Fanny
took the greatest pleasure in rehearsing her splendidly schooled252

1830-1834

little choir, which she generally did on the Friday afternoons.
On a beautiful summer morning nothing prettier could be
seen than the Gartensaal, opening on to the beautiful shrubs
and trees of the garden, filled with a crowd of gay, elegantly
dressed people, and Fanny at her piano, surrounded by her
choir, and performing some ancient or modern masterpieces.
When Hensel had a picture nearly finished, the doors of
the studio stood open, and a grave Christ might look down
on the merry crowd, or Miriam leading her own people would
symbolically express on the canvas what was in living truth
passing in the music-room. Much good music Fanny Hensel
was the means of first making known in Berlin. Of one ma-
tintie in 1834, which must have been particularly successful,
she writes : ‘ Last month (June) I gave a delightful fete: “ Iphi-
genia in Tauris,” sung by Mme. Decker, Mme. Bader, and
Mantius : anything so perfect will not soon be heard again.
Bader especially was exquisite, but each rivalled the other, and
the sound of these three beautiful voices together had such a
powerful charm that I shall never forget it. Everything went
off beautifully. There were just a hundred people, amongst
others Bunsen, in whose honour the fete was given ; Lady
Davy and several English people; the Radziwills accepted, but
could not come, etc. Everything was most successful, even
more beautiful than “ Orpheus ” last year. On the Sunday
following I had a full orchestra from the Konigstadt theatre,
and had my overture performed, which sounded very well.’ An
extract from a letter of Fanny’s to her father, written on the
christening-day of her boy, may conclude the description of
the first years of her married life:—

‘ I cannot allow such a joyful and beautiful day to come to
an end, dear father, without writing to tell you how we have
missed you. An event like this will make one’s past life
rise vividly before one, and my heart tells me I must again
thank you, dear parents (for this letter is meant for mother
also), at this moment, and I hope not for the last time, for
guiding me to where I now stand, for my life, my education,
my husband ! And thank you for being so good—for the
blessing of good parents rests on their children, and I feelTHE FATHER IN PARIS.

253

so happy that I have nothing left to wish for but that such
happiness might last. I truly know and feel how blessed I
am, and this consciousness is, I think, the foundation-stone of
happiness.’

Abraham Mendelssohn had gone to Paris, and some of his
letters to Leah may follow here.

Paris : July 13, 1830.

I should like to send you more than the dry intelligence of
my having safely arrived here at 11 o’clock last night, but I
cannot. I am so fatigued with all I have already done, seen,
and talked this morning that I am almost out of my wits. But
I am in Paris I Every entrance into Paris is an important
epoch in one’s life, and, however old, cold, and unstrung
any one may he, the remainder of faculties must he spent
in thoroughly rejoicing that one is there. If you he a liberal,
the elections are all in favour of the opposition; if you belong
to the ministerial party, in a moment the guns will announce
the conquest of Algiers; if you he a philosopher (which I am
not), Gustave Eichthal is about to explain to you at dinner the
new theosophic-industrial system; if you be a merchant, you
have just come home from the most marvellous monument
wealth has ever and anywhere in the world erected to its own
greatness, the Exchange, La Bourse, which, by the way, is now
not only accessible to ladies, but actually frequented by them.
If you he Rike Robert, you buy one of the fifteen hundred thou-
sand hats to be had here; and if you be the town-councillor Men-
delssohn-Bartholdy, you do the same as Rike Robert, for the
only spot on the face of Paris is that caps are not tolerated.
Some rumour of bonnet rouge has had the effect of forbid-
ding any one with a bonnet bleu to approach the Tuileries
garden; a night-cap, perhaps night-caps, because it is a bonnet
blanc—ox blanc bonnet. A cap combining all three colours
would, I dare say, be the most objectionable. If, without
stirring from the Hotel des Princes, you he anxious to
perfect yourself in piano-playing or composition (I want
both, as I have got a little out of practice in travelling)—25*

1830-1834.

Kapellmeister Hummel and Herr Meyerbeer occupy the room
next to yours.

Paris: July 21, 1830.

The most positive profit I have hitherto reaped from my
stay in Paris is the knowledge that married ladies wear a great
deal of white and other sober colours, and that young ladies
only are much addicted to pink; also that all ladies wear their
hair and headdresses most sensibly, and are not attired in that
ridiculous way our fashion-journals describe and prescribe, and
our ladies consider their duty to adopt. I can assure all my
beloved and honoured countrywomen, old and young, great
and small, that the surest way of reaching the Paris ideal is
simpleness in colour and shape; and that a Berlin lady who
would come with her Gigots, Imbecile, curls and bonnets,
would not find either a single prototype or a single imitator.
If I make money here, I shall bring you a genuine elegant Paris
costume, that you may be ashamed of yourselves and learn how
to dress. Our whole c elegant world ’ will be scandalised at it
—pauvres gens du nord, auxquels on n’envoie que le rebut—I
have always thought and said so.

I have been at the Louvre several times already. The
splendid old paintings are still the same, but, alas ! the eyes
with which I look at them are not the same ; scarcely ever before
have I so much regretted my impaired eyesight. But the
remembrance of old love and old enjoyment is vivid enough to
make me bitterly and keenly resent the introduction of bad
company into the assembly of gods. In the first part of the
gallery, the Ecole Franpaise, they have placed, probably to fill a
vacant space, all the Davids—Brutus, the Horatii, the Sabinian
Women, Leonidas, Belisarius, and a horrid Paris and Helena, all
the Girardets, Endymion, the Deluge (which used to please me
at the Luxembourg, but which I cannot bear here), the siege
of Cairo—in short, the devil and all his family. Happily
this invasion of barbarians has as yet advanced only to about
the eighth part of the gallery ; and unless you are frightened
away by these monsters, you arrive at last on hallowed ground.
It is pleasant to watch the number of people working here,PE RE LA CHAISE. THE ‘ THREE DAYS.’

255

mostly women, of all ages and figures. That disgraceful above-
mentioned ‘ Paris’ of David’s, and Kaphael’s grand Holy Family
au berceau, are being copied by three of them at a time.
In the Musee des Statues I have found nothing new but a
Venus of Milo, who has lost both her arms ; I know nothing
further about her.

To-day I have been, like all English people, in the
P&re la Chaise. That vast city of- the dead gets more vast,
more important, more interesting every day; it does not lack
population, and wantonness and folly erect monuments more
and more like houses and palaces. I found Talma, and
many beautiful women of my time ! My guide, an ancient
Bonaparte soldier, said to me, £ Voulez-vous savoir le fin mot
de tout cela ? Plus d’orgueil que de sentiment! ’

To-day the Pairs de France have received lettres
closes pour Vouverture des chambres au 3 aout; from all I
have observed I feel convinced that everything will be settled
peacefully for the present. On both sides too much lies at
stake, and neither has the courage to play Vd tout!

Immediately after this letter was sent off, Abraham was
taken ill, and thus we have nothing from him about the
£ Three Days.’ On August 16th he is able to write again:—

£. . . I have now made up my mind to remain here till
the end of this month or beginning of September, personally to
settle everything that wants settling. Yesterday for the first
time these three weeks I dined out, with Koreff at the Leos’,
whom I really cannot praise and thank enough.

‘When such a mighty instinct of revolution has shown
itself in a nation, legal order in our sense of the word seems to
me quite impossible. Constitutional forms and conditions of an
entirely new kind must be brought about, if they are to suit
and satisfy such a nation, everything existing is obsolete and
becomes tiresome and ridiculous, and unless I am much mis-
taken this feeling exists already. A people like that of
Paris has either, in the consciousness of its own power and
majority, outgrown all the influence of individual superiority—
and in that case the existing power is in great danger—or it1830-1834-

256

becomes a dreadful, irresistible weapon in the hands of those
who know how to use it, and then again the established power
is endangered. The “ Three Days ” appear to me to have spoken
a great, mysterious word, the meaning of which has not yet
been deciphered. One thing is clear: with Charles X. only a
small part of the corruptness, baseness, avarice, and intrigue
of the upper classes has been banished. The worst and most
hostile elements remain behind, weighing on France like an
impenetrable atmosphere, and more difficult to put down than
the Garde Royale. My opinion is, quHl n’y a rien de change
en France, quoiqu’il y ait heureusement un Frangais de
moins.

4 If you do not agree with me, consider that I have been ill
for three weeks. God grant that I may be mistaken, and that
in my seclusion, and perhaps owing to my seclusion, I may
not see clearer than those who were and are in the turmoil.
What has happened was necessary and unavoidable: so much
is certain. Will what ensues and follows be good and right ?
44 I dare not hope, but God grant it,” says Jacobi. Oh, I am
getting old ! ’

Paris : August 25 1830.

Many thanks for your charming letter of the 17th. May
God preserve your enthusiasm and vivacity ! But you are much
mistaken if you believe that the doctors had forbidden my
reading newspapers. No interdiction was needed. When I
am obliged to leave a letter from you unopened for twenty-
four hours, I can certainly read no papers for a week. Before
the fever came on I was in a state of apathy and real good-for-
nothingness, from which only sickness and all sorts of suffering
stirred me up : it was not pleasant.

At Auxerre there has been a riot; the rabble pulled down
the turnpikes in order to pay no more tolls, and declared they
were obeying the king’s orders : 4 que desormais, il n’y aura plus
de barriere entre le roi et le peuple.’ This is a historical fact,
although so truly Shakespearian.

A cabman who drove me one of these days told me that
on the dreadful Wednesday when he and a number of citizensTHE JULY REVOLUTION.

2 57

fought in the Eue St. Honore, several children from twelve
to fourteen years of age armed with sticks had mingled in the
crowd. He asked their leader, c Malheureux, que fais-tu ici ;
tu n’as pas meme d’armes.’ ‘ J’attends que tu sois tue, pour
prendre les tiennes,’ was the answer, which could not be the
invention of a cab-driver. It made me shudder, and I know
nothing like it.

Paris: August 27, 1830.

... I like Hiller best. He is good-natured, lively, though
not altogether without a dash of acrimony. The day before
yesterday he introduced Hector Berlioz to me, the author or
composer of ‘ Faust,’ who appeared to me agreeable and interest-
ing, and a great deal more sensible than his music. You can-
not fancy how all the young people look forward to Felix.
Berlioz has lately obtained the grand prix de composition,
and for five years will enjoy a scholarship of 3,000 francs for a
sojourn in Italy. He does not, however, wish to go there, but
intends to apply for permission to remain here. (This is grist
to your mill, Leah !) In all classes and trades here young
people’s brains are in a state of fermentation: they smell
regeneration, liberty, novelty, and want to have their share
of it. I confess that I have not yet come to a clear idea about
the possible result of it all.

At Gerard’s yesterday I saw something highly interesting
and not soon to be forgotten: a portrait of Bonaparte in
his cabinet, painted with an historical, diplomatic accuracy
and attention to details which quite fascinated me. Gerard
mentioned in the course of conversation that he has painted
four hundred portraits in his life.

Talking of fascination, I was fascinated last night by
Taglioni. It is something quite new I You all remember that
what most delighted us both in Sontag and Paganini was the
placidity, calmness, and composure of their execution. Taglioni’s
dancing has the same merits: her movements are never rapid,
never violent. With perfect self-possession, and without think-
ing at all about the public, she follows the dictates of her own

VOL. I.	s258

i830-i834-

grace and humour, seeking nothing and finding everything,
never making an effort and accomplishing impossibilities.

But 4 Guillaume Tell ’!! I This very day I must pull Leo’s
head off his shoulders for his opinion of it. Atroce! and
empty. I shall bring you the text, which in itself is a curi-
osity. In a passionate, tender duet Melchthal asks his sweet-
heart Mathilde (an Austrian princess, who is about to spend
happy days with him), 4 Vous reverrai-je ? ’	4 Oui, demain,’ is

her answer, which I have at once translated into 4 Oui, gateaux.’1
This same Mathilde says: 4 Les rayons de l’astre de la nuit sont
discrets comme mon Arnold.’ How the author of the 4 Barbiere’
and ‘Othello’ could write such music I cannot understand, and
such a dissonance is only possible in music.

Quiet is perfectly restored here, and to-morrow a review of
over 50,000 national guards is to come off. But the Belgian
disturbances are creating some alarm. I apprehend a stormy
time. Revolutions engender revolutions. The young ones
want to rule, and the old ones do not like it. . . .

Paris: August 30, 1830.

Yesterday (Sunday) five weeks ago I was at Montmorency ;
it happened to be the fete du village. From 5,000 to 6,000 peo-
ple had come together to sing and dance, and to be merry : a few
gendarmes were idle spectators. When at about eleven o’clock I
came back to Paris, the fete was just over, and thousands were
streaming along the streets in peaceful order. Three days
after Paris was all fire and flames, and some 10,000 people lost
life and health. All order was destroyed, tyranny and dis-
order were within an ace of gaining the day, and Paris of
being ruined. Yesterday 50,000 national guards, well drilled
and equipped, were assembled on the Champ de Mars to be
reviewed by the King, 150,000 to 200,000 spectators present;
not a trace of regular troops, police, or gendarmes—I have
not seen a more imposing, peaceful, and beautiful sight in
my life. These were the same people who three weeks before
had been fighting so desperately, the same whom I had seen

1 A popular Berlin expression, * Ja, Kuchen I ’ about equal to * Don’t you
wish you may get it 1 ’THE JOURNEES DE JUILLET.

259

in a state of physical and moral excitement and fury never
to be forgotten. None bat old people, invalids, little children,
and the dregs of the population had remained in the town, and
yet neither out of Paris nor in Paris was the slightest excess
committed.

This is indeed a miracle! Still I maintain that these
awful and sudden changes of the most contradictory kinds dis-
play, or at any rate forebode, a state of things—in this country
at least—which nothing now existing can outlive. A pro-
sperous time for the young generation ! They can and will
make their way, and will find an immense sphere of action
opening before them, whilst we retreat behind the scenes and
see the smoke and the paint.

I have just received your letter of the 24th, and repeat
that a correspondence at 150 miles’ distance has its drawbacks :
twenty-six years ago I made the same remark to you in a letter
from Paris. Either I must have entirely forgotten, or you
must have completely misunderstood what I wrote to you about
my views of the present doings here. With all my heart and
mind do I adhere to the principle of the Journees de Juillet,
and consider them the most extraordinary event in history.
But Jean Paul says that nobody is as good as his good impulses,
nor so bad as his bad ones; and if the latter may be maintained
of the French of 1793, I am afraid the former must apply to
those of 1830. If you read what I believe I wrote to you, from
this point of view, very likely it will no longer appear obscure
to you. But I am fifty-three or sixty-three years old, and no
one must blame me for liking quiet.

The Marquis de Praslin is going to some place in Italy,
to notify the royal accession. Tel ministre father-in-law, tel
ambassadeur son-in-law! This minister father-in-law is
enough to make me hate the Journees de Juillet.

On May 13, his health being restored, Felix started on his
Italian journey, whence he wrote the well-known letters pub-
lished after his death as ‘ Reise-Briefe ’ and ‘ Letters from Italy
and Switzerland.’ He did not write home, and perhaps his26o

1830-1834.

modesty even made him unconscious of the charm he exer-
cised on all wh'o came into contact with him. Marx, who in
the beginning of the journey met Felix at Munich, wrote about
it to Fanny Hensel as follows:—

Munich: July 21, 1830.

Over moors and marshes grown with broom; past the
chapel where an aged pilgrim leans on his youthful grand-
child ; across the blessed plain where angels lay the cloth for the
pious wayfarer, all the rushing.wells and brooks which carry
their waters to the roaring Schwarza, where the deer are roving ,
past the towns full of labour and pleasure—to the beloved
sisters. One glance, one thought of you brings the north to
the sunny south, through hundreds of miles. Felix by my side
is enjoying your company in his morning dreams as I enjoy it
whilst writing, and as we did both yesterday and the day before
in talking of you till late at night! Ju6t look here, dearest
Fanny, whether for once 4 the sun does not shine on my under-
taking,’ as the green leaf beside me desires it to do, and
whether I really want the snow-mountains, which send me
their first greeting from out of the clouds. We shall not,
however, disdain to ascend them on the 24th, and be present
on the 25th at the great 4 redeeming sacrifice on Golgotha ’
at Oberammergau, a Passion-music with acting. They founded
the institution centuries ago, and contrived so that every tenth
year, and exactly on the 25th of July, when we are at hand, the
solemnity up in the hills will take place. This is Wednesday
morning, 21st, and I am going to send off the first lines I have
written since Berlin.

What we have done up to this date and are still doing
is easily said: we are mylording it. I have deigned to accept
the dignity of a viceroy. You may fancy, dear Eebecca, how
this becomes me; I accept all homage with the grandest air
possible. 4 Dear Herr von Marx,’ or 4 Most honoured sir,’ or
4 Your honour,’ etc.—thus they address me on all sides. 4 How
inestimable,’ etc. 4 We will carry you on our hands,’ 4 What
can we do for you ? ’ 4 If you would but consent to stay a little
while.’ For (and now you must leave off marvelling) theFELIX AT MUNICH.

261

people here have caught at the idea that my own departure
must be the signal of Felix’s. And as the Egyptian mothers
and brides sacrificed wine and lambs to the crocodiles, they want
to burn incense to me, that I may not rob them of their pet
lamb. If mine were not a noble nature, but a mercenary one,
I might levy a contribution; in short, I am irresistible, a
parvenu ! On my way home, however, I shall not pass Munich,
but travel incognito.

But seriously, you cannot have an idea of Felix’s position
here. Not a hundredth part of it can come out through his
letters, and my description must, with the very best inten-
tions, fall short of reality. That they would appreciate his
music—that we knew beforehand. But now, he might make
the most wretched music, and they would all be enchanted.
It is worth standing by and watching how he is the darling
in every house, the centre of every circle. From early in the
morning everything concentrates on him. Yesterday, for in-
stance, I had written as far as ‘ incognito,’ and Felix was still
asleep, when the ambassador’s chasseur brought a note from the
most sweetly writing Betty in all my acquaintance: as Felix
could not come to dinner, would he kindly come at twelve, or
some time in the afternoon, or some time in the morning; at
any time she would be very happy, etc. Again the door opens,
and in steps the chasseur of some Count (Protzschy or Prutzschi,
or something like that, or unlike that, but certainly a very
queer name), bringing a bouquet of carnations from Fraulein
So-and-so. Then enters Munich’s most distinguished pianoforte-
teacher, begging to have a lesson—he has put off" his own lessons
as long as Felix is here. Then best compliments from the
grateful Peppi Lang (oh, how much I shall have to tell you of
her, even though she is not yet sixteen!), and she ventures to
beg his pardon for offering him a keepsake (eight charming
songs). Fraulein Delphine Schauroth—of at least sixteen
ancestors—having spent the whole night over a song without
words for Felix—nevertheless begs and entreats him to come
at ten, instead of half past, or, if possible, even earlier still.
To deliver this message Count Wittgenstein has to walk a dis-
tance of half an hour. Not to mention Staatsrath Maures.262

183O-1834-

Kapellmeister Stanz, Moralt, and other dry visits and messages,
there comes an inquiry from Herr von Staudacher to the
purpose that although they had Herr von Mendelssohn’s pro-
mise to come to dinner, they begged to make quite sure of
it, etc. A confidential note of Barmann’s follows, notifying
that the Staudachers have ordered two puddings to please
Felix. You will think this fragmentary list a sober joke,
whereas it is merry earnest, and nothing but a fact. And
now—but that would be too delightful!—you ought to accom-
pany us and read in the smiling faces of the very servants what
their masters and mistresses have been saying of their expected
guest, how not one of them can be induced to announce us, how
—but who can describe all the details, who can number all the
thousand leaves on the tree of pleasure and kindness ? Only
when encompassing the whole you feel and understand that the
love and interest flow through the smallest veins. I have over-
heard that grave pompous Staudacher carrying on a violent
dispute with Barmann whether Felix, on a certain occasion,
first opened his mouth and then laughed, or laughed directly.
Literally so! Me they have overwhelmed with thanks and
handshakings for the composition of the E major Sonata—that
is to say, for naming it to them.

It is a prerogative of the lively southern character to receive
the beautiful and amiable with such warmth and kindness.
The people, the foliage, the sky, the very stones here are full of
that warm breath of life which creates joy and loveliness every-
where, and sheds a glory of manifold lights and tints far and
wide over the rich country. Oh, Hensel, how often have I
wished for you to share my joys and to lend your eye to me,
marvelling novice that I am I How much I shall have to talk
over with you of the valleys and the springs! Much have I seen,
much have I thought, and, I believe, have found. I am longing
to hear your opinion. But here I must conclude, for the minutes
are counted and I am off to the mountains, and then I know
not to which quarter of the world. Farewell, dear friends. No
answer can reach me. In old love and friendship,

Maux.MUNICH. DELPHINE SCHAUROTH.

263

The following letters were written by Felix from Munich :—

Munich: June 11,1830.

My darling little Sister,—Are you quite well again ? and
no longer angry with your wicked brother, who has not written
for such a time ? He is sitting here in a nice little room, the
green velvet-book with your portraits before him, and writing
by the open window. I wish you very happy and merry indeed,
this moment, because I am just thinking of you ; and if you
were so every moment I think of you, you would never be
ailing or downcast. One thing is sure enough : that you are
a capital creature, and know something of music. I felt the
truth of that last night whilst flirting very considerably. For
your brother is as foolish as you are wise, and last night he
was trying to be very sweet. There was a grand soiree at
P. Kerstorf’s, and Excellencies and Counts as thick as fowls
in a poultry-yard. Also artists and other refined minds. Miss
Delphine Schauroth, who is adored here (and deservedly), was
something of all this together ; her mother being a Freifrav,
von, and she herself an artist and very well educated. I was
very gallant. We played the four-hand sonata of Hummel
together, beautifully and with much applause, and it happened
that I followed her lead and smiled, and held the A flat in the
beginning of the last piece for her ‘because her little hand
could not reach it.’ Then the lady of the house placed us
next to one another at supper, healths were proposed, etc. All
I wanted to say is, that the girl plays very well, so as really
to please me the day before yesterday when we played the piece
together for the first time (we have now performed it three
times). But yesterday morning, when I heard her alone, and
again admired her very much, it suddenly came into my mind
that we have a young lady in our garden-house whose ideas of
music are somehow of a different kind, and that she knows more
music than many ladies together, and I thought I would write
to her and send her my best love. It is clear that you are this
young lady, and I tell you, Fanny, that there are some of your
pieces only to think of which makes me quite tender and sincere,
in spite of all the insincerity that forms a social element in South264

1830-1834-

Germany. But you know really and truly why God has created
music, and that makes me happy. On the piano you are pretty
good also, and if you want somebody to love and admire you
more than I do, he must be a painter and not a musician.

As I am alluding to Hensel, I must not omit telling him
that Goethe inquired after him repeatedly with much interest,
and wanted to hear about his occupations. I had to leave the
green book with him for several days, and he bestowed much
praise on it. He looked at the lamb-group in my album, mutter-
ing, ‘ They are well off, that looks elegant and pretty, so com-
fortable, and yet beautiful and graceful.’ And so he went on
—in short, Hensel, he is very much prepossessed in your
favour.

Now follows a fragment of one of his poems for the chaos
(to say how his unknown beloved one is to know him):—

Wenn Du kommst, es muss mich freuen,

Wenn Du gelist, es muss mich schmerzen,

Und so wird es sich emeuen
Immerfort in beiden Herzen.

Fragst Du, werd’ ich gem ausfiihrlich
Deinem Forschen Auskunft geben,

Wenn ich frage, wirst Du wirklich,

Mit der Antwort mich beleben.

Leiden, welche Dich beriihrten,

Riibren mich in gleicher Strenge ;

Wenn die Feste dich entfiihrten,

Folg’ ich Dir zur heitern Menge, etc.1

Here is also a strange conclusion to a poem addressed to
Fraulein von Schiller :—

1 When thou comest, I am joyful,

When thou goest, I’m in trouble,

And in meeting and in parting
Joy and grief will age redouble.

If thou ask me, I will duly
Answer all interrogation :

To my question, if thou answer,

Thou wilt give me animation.

If thou suffer, all thy ailing
Will as bitterly befall me,

And thy footsteps I shall follow,

When to mirth and dance they call thee.GOETHE ON HENSEL.

265

Milde zum Verstandlichen
Wird die Mutter mahnen,
Deutend zum Unendlichen,
Auf des Vaters Bahnen.1

I write down both from memory only.

Yesterday a noble countess graciously praised my songs, and
said, half asking my opinion about it, whether the one by Grill-
parzer was not actually delightful. I answered affirmatively,
and must have appeared to her rather conceited until I gave
her a full explanation by telling her that you were the composer,
and promising to play and display at once in society the com-
positions you were next going to send me. If I do that, I am a
peppercorn, or a brewer’s horse; but perhaps you will not send
any.

They have just brought me a light, and my next-door
neighbour is profiting by the twilight to torment his piano, and
is actually cutting to pieces Paganini’s 4 Clochette.’

As I passed Feucht on my hurried tiresome journey hither,
I heard an uproarious noise in a house, and the postilion said,
‘ They are drinking there.’ I listened, and the peasants were
singing a great song about a huntsman, with the following
burden :—

And now when I come back from a ceremonious call or a
ballet (like yesterday’s), or when I go home at night and ought
to be thinking of all the fine phrases I have heard, I roar to my
heart’s delight—

Can’t you understand ? I believe several Munich people have



1 Gently to the duties real,-

Will your mother show the way,

Pointing to the world-ideal
And your father’s lofty sway.266

1830-1834.

put me down for coarse in consequence, which I am not,
having a noble soul full of love for you.

Munich : June 26, 1830.

Dear Fanny,—My best love and congratulations.1 Accept
them as you accept all I can give you, not thinking of the gift
but of the giver’s heart. I am with you in my thoughts, as I
shall always be, come what may. I wished to have sent you a
song, but it is rather a failure.2 I am just looking at it again,
and think, ‘ Never mind! ’ I was a little fluttered, you will
understand me; there it is, a yeypa^a, yeypatpa. If it is too
bad for you I cannot help it; it is written under the impression
of that first half-anxious, half-joyful letter :—

Con moto agitato.

1 On the birth of her son. ’

- This song, slightly altered, was afterwards published as No. 2 in the
second book of Songs without Words.A BIRTHDAY GIFT.

2691830-1834.A BIRTHDAY SONG.

269270

1830-1834.

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27<A.—The song is not so very bad after all. To-day I received
your good letter about Fanny’s getting up again, and more such
glad tidings. Oh, you darling sisters ! When you write such
long letters and with such a delightful confusion and such a lot
of nonsense, a certain countryman of yours feels more deeply
moved than he would by many a tragedy, perhaps because he
knows you so well. Hensel must paint Rebecca for me just asFELIX IN LOVE.

271

he likes; I shall be quite satisfied as long as it is exquisite.
But seriously, 0 W. H., I will not prescribe to you with regard
to position, wreath or no wreath. But do not make a fashion-
able portrait, nor a brilliant portrait, nor put volcanoes in the
background, nor velvet drapery, diadems, or jewels in the
foreground; hut a quiet and bright likeness, brilliant through
nothing but its intrinsic truth, without anything romantic
or historical that does not really lie in the face, or any other
attraction whatever, but again the face. I should think the
position already found might suit this idea; but follow your
own ideas, and if it turns out a pendant to my great Titian you
will earn some commendation. Only simple and quiet, mind
that. You see the portrait is already before my mind’s eye.
Were it but real 1

As regards myself, I go every day to the gallery, and twice a
week to Fraulein Schauroth for a long morning call. We flirt
awfully, but there is no danger, for I am in love already with a
young Scotch girl, whose name I do not know. Yesterday
the before-mentioned university ball took place. I wish you
could have seen me waltz with the rector’s wife. It was beau-
tiful 1 A garden-lawn covered by deal boards and hung round
with drapery and flower-garlands was our dancing-room; the
trees were decked with coloured Chinese lamps; when it was
quite dark, we had fireworks; then followed a transparency
representing the university, and then a great illumination. I
met my special friend the Nuncio, and also the Due de Bordeaux’s
tutor, M. Martin, who made very eager inquiries after Aunt
Jette, and begged me to tell her a thousand 6 things ’—for
we spoke French. In a dark avenue there suddenly appeared
Hensel’s portrait of Ringseis, and for the sake of the likeness I
requested to be introduced to its original, who inquired very
kindly after you all. On my right they talked Russian; the
most beautiful burghers’ daughters with their pretty caps walked
under the big trees. Higher up, in a surrounding circle, the
Austrian ambassador was sitting, and Frau von So-and-So and
Baroness So-and-So, and Saphir—without a necktie. There
were also a number of grave professors, sweet officers, trumpets
for accompanying the students’ songs—in short, it was a gay272

I830-I834-

and original fete, and a complete success. I walked home by
myself, and not knowiDg my way went boldly through the fields
in the direction where I thought the town must be; and with
the sound of the dancing-music in the distance, a glorious sky
above, wending my way through the corn in a strange country,
was what I liked much. I had hit upon the right path, and
came to a high dike leading along the hanks of the Isar, to the
great bridge. The river was roaring, and the lights of Munich
were before me, whilst I could still see the sparkling lamps of
the ball far away. My thoughts were with you : but I am over-
loquacious, and one thing makes me forget the other. So it was
not the ball chiefly that I wanted to talk about, nor my lone-
some walk home, nor the burghers’ daughters in their silver
caps, but I had meant to tell you how I was introduced to the
young Scotchwoman, and how I spoke English to her the whole
evening, and how I showed her some politeness this morning,
and how we met again—by chance. This young Scotchwoman,
then . . .	Felix.

From Munich he went by Vienna, Venice, and Florence to
Rome, where he spent the greater part of winter, then to Naples.
For an intended journey to Sicily he did not obtain his father’s
consent. After a second stay in Rome and Florence he passed
Genoa and Milan on his way to Switzerland, where he travelled
in dreadful weather all through the country, and also south-
western Germany, mostly walking. Of this a minute account
is given in the ‘ Letters from Italy and Switzerland.’

From Frankfort he wrote the following letter to Fanny on
November 14, 1831, shortly after receiving the news of Rebecca’s
engagement and the death of his aunt Henrietta.

0 my darling sister and fellow-musician,—To-day is your
birthday, and in sending you my best wishes I wanted to be
merry and happy, when your letters came and brought me the
news of Tante Jette’s death and made an end of all joy in me.
Yesterday 1 received the news of the engagement; to-day this
sad news. What a change I I will give you as a birthday pre-
sent one of the new wonderfully touching organ pieces ofFELIX’S LOVE FOR GERMANY.

273

Sebastian Bach’s, ■which I have heard here for the first time;
their pure and tender solemnity suits the day, it is like hearing
the angels in heaven sing.

11th.—I was going to copy the piece when I began my letter,
and put the music-paper ready in the evening. When I got up
in the morning the whole copy was already made ; Schelble had
heard me talk of it, and got up earlier and did the work for
me. This little story will give you a good idea of my life
with him: every moment he puts me to shame by some new
kindness, and his clear judgment teaches me constant lessons.
I wish you could see and share my life here; its interest is
enhanced by Philipp Veit, who is one of the most splendid
fellows I know, delightfully amiable, gentle, and lively, and
an eminent painter. You ought to see his new picture. We
are generally together; in the evening we make music in
corpore. The other day in the Cacilien-Verein Schelble gave
several things by Handel, a chorus by Mozart, Bach’s ‘ It is the
old covenant,’ truly heavenly music, the Credo out of the great
mass in B minor, and one of my choruses.

Now you and Eebecca play this chorale whilst you are
still together, and think of me. When, towards the end, the
melody of the chorale is soaring up high into the sky, and all
is dissolved in harmony, it is truly divine. There are many
others of equal power, but they are more severe. This one is
fit for to-day, and in sending it I embrace you and Hensel, and
hope you may continue to think of me as I think of you.

Felix.

He next went to Paris.

Although the wonderful nature of Italy and the sight of the
delightful treasures of art could not fail to make the deepest
impression on him, everybody who reads his Letters must feel
that his heart was in the north, and in Germany most of all.
The letter he wrote to Zelter from Paris, February 15, 1832,
and which is published in the later editions of the first volume,
gives most striking evidence of this.

It was not only the state of art, more in harmony with his
mind, nor the character of the people, that made Felix give

VOL. 1.	T274

1830-1834.

such a decided preference to Germany, but the northern scenery
and vegetation had also much more charm for him. Thus
he writes from Florence:1 ‘I saw the gardens of the Pitti
Palace yesterday in sunshine: they are superb; and the thick
solid stems of the myrtles and laurels and the innumerable
cypresses made a strange exotic impression on me; but when
I declare that I consider beeches, limes, oaks, and firs ten
times more beautiful and picturesque, I think I hear Hensel
exclaim, “ Oh, the northern bear! ” ’ And in a letter to Devrient
he writes about Switzerland : £ Not in dream or fancy, however
beautiful, can you form an idea of this country, so different
as it is from all other countries, from the shape of the moun-
tains down to the houses. To imagine it one must have seen
it. Every hill has its own character and its own physiog-
nomy, dark or bright, old or young. You have nature before
you whole and entire, and one glance encompasses all seasons,
the sunny valley, the naked rocks, the winter storms and fogs
over snow and ice, and whilst you stand on the very ice there
are the green dale and trees and herbs below. Cannot you
contrive to see Switzerland ? for it opens to you a new com-
prehension of the Creator and His creation in its inexpressible
beauty. Everybody should if possible see it once in his life-
time. What is sunburnt Italy compared to this vivifying fresh-
ness and healthiness ? None but those who have been there
can really tell what is verdure, meadow, water, spring, and
rock. I have never felt so free, in such immediate contact with
nature, than during these delightful weeks ; and whenever in my
life I may have another summer’s roving, to these hills I shall
repair.’ And he kept his word: again and again, up to the very
last year of his life, he directed his steps to Switzerland in quest
of recreation after the fatigues of his visits to England, or to
the banks of the Rhine or the Taunus-forests. Italy he never
saw a second time.

A letter2 written from Paris on February 21 to his father
should be compared with the above-mentioned letter to Zelter:—

{ It is now high time, dear father, to write you a few

1 Letters from Italy and Switzerland, translated by Lady Wallace.

5 Lady Wallace’s translation.THE PURPOSE OF HIS LIFE.

2 75

words with regard to my travelling plans, and on this occasion
in a more serious strain than usual, for many reasons. I must
first, in taking a general view of the past, refer to what you
designed to be the chief object of my journey, desiring me
strictly to adhere to it. I was closely to examine the various
countries, and to fix on the one where I wished to live and to
work ; I was further to make known my name and capabilities
in order that the people among whom I resolved to settle
should receive me well and not be wholly ignorant of my career ;
and finally, I was to take advantage of my own good fortune,
and your kindness, to press forward in my subsequent efforts.
It is a happy feeling to be able to say that I believe this has
been the case. Always excepting those mistakes which are
not discovered till too late, I think I have fulfilled the ap-
pointed object. People now know that I exist and that I have
a purpose, and any talent that I display they are ready to
approve and to accept. They have made advances to me here,
and proposed to take my music, which they seldom do, for all
the others, even Onslow, have been obliged to offer their com-
positions. The London Philharmonic have requested me to
perform something new of my own there on the 10th of March.
I also got the commission from Munich for an opera without
taking any step whatever to obtain it, and indeed not till after
my concert. It is my intention to give a concert here (if pos-
sible), and certainly in London in April, if the cholera does not
prevent my going there; and this, on my account, in order
to make money. I hope, therefore, I may say that I have also
fulfilled this part of your wish—that I should make myself
known to the public before returning to you.

‘ Your injunction, too, to make choice of the country that 1
preferred to live in, I have equally obeyed, at least in a general
sense. That country is Germany. This is a point on which I
have now quite made up my mind. I cannot yet, however,
decide on the particular city; for the most important of all,
which for various reasons has so many attractions for me, I
have not yet thought of in that light—I allude to Berlin. On
my return, therefore, I must ascertain whether I can remain276

1830-1834-

and establish myself there, according to my views and wishes,
after having seen and enjoyed other places.’

Felix did not come home empty-handed, and the two
principal works he composed in the south may be considered
as characteristic of his turn of mind, which was decidedly
Teutonic-Northern—the Hebrides-overture and the ‘ Walpurgis-
nacht.’ Neither of these pieces reminds us of the scenery in
which they took their origin. From amongst the laurel and
orange groves, his thoughts and affections carried him back to
the waves of the North Sea and the oak-forests of Germany.
In his Letters he several times dwells on the i Walpurgis-nacht’
—for instance, in a letter to Devrient: 1 ‘ Since then I have
written a grand piece of music, which will probably impress the
public at large—the First Walpurgis-night of Goethe. I began
it simply because it pleased me and inspired me with fervour,
and never thought of its being performed.; but now that it lies
finished before me, I see that it is quite suitable for a great
Concert-piece, and you must sing the bearded pagan priest at
my first subscription concert in Berlin—I wrote it expressly
to suit your voice. And as I have hitherto found that the
pieces I have composed with least reference to the public are
precisely those which gave them the greatest satisfaction, so
no doubt it will be on this occasion also.’

He was not mistaken. The ‘ Walpurgis-nacht ’ was always a
great favourite with the public, but even more especially so
with the performers. It was often sung at Fanny Hensel’s
Sunday-music, and invariably with a fervour and enthusiasm
beyond that created by any other music. The performance of
the ‘ Walpurgis-nacht’ was universally looked upon as a special
festive treat. Its harmonies were the last that Fanny ever
heard—at a rehearsal of this work she died.

It was a natural, so to speak motherly, affection by which
Fanny felt drawn towards this composition; for her Sunday-
music had given a first impulse to it. Felix writes about it
to her:2 ‘ One of my pieces certainly owes its birth to this
Sunday-music. When you wrote to me about it lately, I
rellected whether there was anything I could send you, thus

1 Lady Wallace’s translation.	2 Ibid.THE WALPURGIS-NIGHT MUSIC.

277

reviving- a favourite old scheme of mine, which has, however,
now assumed such vast proportions that I cannot let you have
any part of it by E., but you must learn it for some future
time.

‘ Listen, and wonder I Since I left Vienna I have partly
composed Groethe’s ‘ First Walpurgis-nacht,’ but have not yet
had courage to write it down. The composition has now as-
sumed a form, it is become a grand cantata, with full orchestra,
and may turn out well. At the opening there are songs of
spring, etc., and plenty of others of the same kind. Afterwards,
when the watchmen make a great noise with their “ Grabeln
und Zacken und Eulen,” the fairy frolics begin, and you
know that I have a particular foible for them ; the sacrificial
Druids then appear, with their trombones in C major, when the
watchmen come in again in alarm, and here I mean to intro-
duce a light mysterious tripping chorus ; and lastly to conclude
with a grand sacrificial hymn. Don’t you think that this
might develop into a new style of cantata ? I have an instru-
mental introduction as a matter of course, and the effect of
the whole is very spirited.’

In the year 1842 Felix revised the ‘Walpurgis-nacht’ and
made some alterations, and then only it appeared in its present
form. Two curious incidents relating to this work may here
be mentioned. At one of the performances at Fanny Hensel’s
a very pious gentleman belonging to the highest aristocracy
expressed his edification at the beautiful redeeming and elevat-
ing Christian chorus at the end—the good man having under-
stood the hymn of the Pagans after the expulsion of the
Christian watchmen in this to him more satisfactory sense.
In Austria the censorship struck out the words : ‘ Mit dem
Teufel, den sie fabeln, wollen wir sie selbst erschrecken ’—
‘ With the devil, they imagine, we will frighten them them-
selves,’ and instead of it they put: ‘ Mit dem Teufel, mit dem
Teufel, wollen wir sie selbst erschrecken.’ So that in Austria
the devil did not exist in imagination only. It may also be
mentioned that several letters inclosing music which Felix sent
from the Austrian parts of Italy never reached their destina-
tion ; they were probably opened and confiscated, because the278

1830-1834.

officials suspected some high treason to lurk in those enigma-
tical crotchets

Besides these two chief works, Felix brought home a good
deal of church-music and several songs, with words and without.

The Gr-minor concerto for pianoforte and orchestra was
written in Munich, and the Capriccio in B minor in London.
And he began the great symphony in A major, which in his
c Reise-Briefe ’ he always calls the ‘ Italian symphony,’ and which
he finished in Berlin. Not with empty hands did he come back
to Berlin, to put the question to this city whether there was a
place for him and his work.

Berlin has answered this question in the negative, although
a place there was, and one exactly suited for Felix Mendels-
sohn, who possessed all the qualities desirable for it. Zelter
had died during his absence, and the Singakademie was
looking out for a new conductor. Mendelssohn had been
Zelter’s favourite pupil, had often been his substitute as con-
ductor, and by the performance of the Passion-music three
years ago had given ample proof of his ability. Now, after
travelling through one half of Europe, received everywhere
with open arms, his name known far beyond the limits of his
native country, he came back ready to accept the place which
the Singakademie had to offer him. They could have him for
the asking, and he was even willing to take a joint-conductor-
ship with Rungenhagen, and somehow subordinate to him. The
academy, however, by a very large majority, elected Rungen-
hagen; and thereby, as Devrient in his 6 Recollections ’ justly
remarks, was condemned for years and years to mediocrity,
good enough only to act as a foil to a newly founded singing
association.

Felix spent the whole summer and winter of the year 1832
at Berlin, and gave several concerts. In one of these the
Overture to the Hebrides and the ‘ Walpurgis-nacht were per-
formed. The home-life was charming; all festive occasions,
Christmas, the birthdays of Abraham, Leah, and Felix, were
celebrated by dramatic or musical representations. All this
was very pleasant; but on the main point—the plan of settling
in Berlin—the year 1832, as it went on, brought grave disap-DISAPPOINTMENTS. DUSSELDORF.

279

pointments. Felix agreed with his father that he should
not live merely as a private musician, but in a definite sphere
of action and office ; and as no other appointment but that just
mentioned was vacant in Berlin, and as the fact that altogether
Berlin was not the place for him became more and more
evident, the painful necessity had to be faced that he must
find his sphere of action elsewhere. So his life could not be
what he had pictured it in that letter to Bebecca. No 4 com-
posing at home near the sisters and then going abroad to per-
form his music, and then again coming home and composing,’
but he was to find his 4 at home ’ abroad ; ‘abroad’ he was to
write his music, and only return to his old home as a visitor,
and, if good luck willed it, perform there what he had written
in far-away places, among strangers. What a different leave-
taking this was from the one before he went to England, and
the other, when he started for Italy! It was leave-taking
for life, with both father and mother growing old. How often
might they still hope to embrace their son I Such adverse cir-
cumstances could not but influence Felix’s productivity: no
important compositions date from this stay at Berlin, and this
want of creative power, as it resulted from his low spirits, re-
flected itself again on them.

In April 1833 he left Berlin and went to Diisseldorf,
where the ties were then formed which subsequently held him
there for a permanence. We know how the whole life and
doings and artistic relations of Diisseldorf had impressed and
attracted him during his stay there after his great journey. For
the present he accepted an engagement to conduct the great
Diisseldorf Festival of 1833, and he profited by the inter-
mediate time for a visit to England, where his Italian sym-
phony was performed with great success by the Philharmonic.1
Then he went to Diisseldorf for the festival. He had had the
good fortune to acquire the original score of 4 Israel in Egypt,’
and the performance of this work was to be the chief part of the
festival. His father went to Diisseldorf for the occasion, and
in a long series of letters to his wife gives a detailed account

1 For the dates of these and other events in his life, see Grove’s * Dictionary
of Music,’ art. Mendelssohn.28o

1830-1834.

of the festival and of his journey to England with Felix
directly afterwards. Some extracts follow.

Diisseldorf: May 22, 1833.

As you have only lately read Voltaire’s novels, you will
remember with what intentions wise Memnon went out in the
morning, and how consistently he carried them out before
evening. I am not wise Memnon, but only the son of wise
Mendelssohn; and as I had charged Felix to take an apart-
ment for me—telle quelle—as long as I paid for it, this being
a conditio sine qua non, the natural consequence is, that I am
occupying one of the most beautiful rooms in the house of
Herr v. Woringen, senior, with whom I have just dined, and
who has this moment, whilst I am writing, brought me a jug
of fresh water himself—the old President (he is seventy-four)!
Servant, male or female, I have not yet beheld. This is how
it all came to pass. In fearful heat, completely knocked up,
I approached Diisseldorf, fixing my eyes on a building which
answered the description of the music-hall, when somebody
bowed to me very courteously and came up to the carriage. I
bid the coachman stop, and, not knowing the polite gentleman,
called out intuitively, ‘ How do you do, Herr von Woringen ? ’
for no one else unknown to me could know me at Diisseldorf.
He told me thatFelix'had not been able to find decent quarters
for me in any hotel or private house, and that I must therefore
put up at his father’s. I resolutely declined, but he still more
resolutely persevered, and among other arguments made the
best of stating that the one apartment which Felix, to satisfy
my wish, had eventually bespoken, was in a very dirty house.
Now I myself, after the dreadful dust of my two last travelling
days, felt so dirty, and so disgusted with my condition, that all
power of resistance broke down before this last argument.
Moreover, our conversation on the public road had to come to
an end, so Woringen stepped into the carriage, I submitted to
douce violence, and here I am! It would be impossible to
give you an idea of the incredible kindness and truly antique
hospitality these people show me pour les beaux yeux de—
mon fils, and I cannot deny that I bless the happy coincidenceDUSSELDORF FESTIVAL, 1833.

281

of my meeting Woringen in the street and his recognising me,
for I am extremely comfortable here. You shall hear about
my travelling adventures and other experiences by-and-by; I
must first write of Felix and the festival. When I arrived,
he was engaged at rehearsal. Woringen ran at once to tell
him that I had come, and quite triumphed at the news of my
having taken my abode with them, to which fact Felix would
not at first give credit. After a while he came here, and why
should I deny or conceal that he kissed my hand for joy? He
looks very well; but, unless my eyes deceive me, this short
time has again changed him a good deal: his face is more
marked, all the features are more sharply delineated and
prominent, the eyes, however, still the same, so that the
whole has a very peculiar effect—I have never seen a face like
his. Nor have I ever seen anybody so petted and courted
as he is here; he himself cannot enough praise the zeal of
all the performers, and their perfect confidence in him ; and,
as it always has been, his playing and his memory astound
everybody. His wonderful memory has stood him in good
stead, inasmuch as it made them give up a symphony of Beet-
hoven, which had been played here several times already, and
put the Pastoral Symphony in its place in the programme.
(It makes me melt to think that I shall have to hear it in
this dreadful heat the day after to-morrow.) When it was
mentioned, he not only instantly played it from memory, but
at a small trial on the eve of the rehearsal, when there was no
score at hand, conducted it by heart and sang the part of a
missing instrument.

The bustle and flow of life and the interest excited by this
festival are most peculiar and animating ; a great many people
are coming from Holland—for instance, one chief singer from
Utrecht. I see with much satisfaction that there is really
no room left in the town, for my stay in this house is very
pleasant. The family is one of 'the main supports of music in
Diisseldorf, and the father, seventy-four years old, as I mentioned,
sings in the chorus, with a good tenor voice. Yesterday (I am
writing all this to-day, one day later than yesterday, and be-
lieve I put a wrong date to my letter also, for yesterday must282

I83O-1834.

have been the 20th), after I had dined with the Woringens,
people dropped in for coffee, Madame Decker, Madame
Schadow, and others. After coffee they made an excursion,
which I did not join, being very tired and wanting to write.
Felix had dined with the prince, and came home accompanied
by Immermann, with whom I had a long talk. (Felix said
that this visit was a great honour, Immermann being always so
proud.) Then I had a few hours with Felix alone, and then we
were called to tea, and I really fancied myself at home. We
had our tea and bread and butter alone with the family, and
remained together till half past eleven.

This morning the solos from c Israel ’ are being rehearsed here
at the piano, and this afternoon at three o’clock there will be a
general rehearsal of the whole oratorio, which will last till eight
o’clock, Felix thinks. I shall perspire as I did on the Eighi;
for as they have made the sensible arrangement, that everybody
who has taken a ticket for the concert can have one for the
rehearsal at ten groschen, there is nearly the same crowd at
both. To-morrow there will be rehearsals both morning and
afternoon; on Sunday and Monday the concerts; Tuesday
a great ball and a third concert, when I hope they will give all
the five or six symphonies of Beethoven one after another, have
Madame Decker sing and Felix play, and then something more
to finish up with. I am going to propose to begin this concert
at ten in the evening and make it last through the whole
night. This plan has several advantages: in the first place,
only the nights have now a tolerable temperature (I may per-
haps profit by them and the moonlight to visit the painters’
studios); then nobody will be blamed for going to sleep, since
the night is really made for that purpose; and so nature and
art would work together. As introduction or overture I should
propose the first chorus from ‘ Doctor und Apotheker,’ and if
Madame Decker would then sing the air from the ‘ Freischiitz’
(her grand success here), at the words ‘Welch’ schone Nacht,’
everybody might think or dream what they liked. I should
call such a concert a concert dormant, in opposition to
dejeuner dansant, and will leave the completion of these ideas
to the committee for bad jokes, Leipziger Strasse No. 3.DUSSELDORF FESTIVAL.

283

Diisseldorf : Whit Sunday, 1833.

If there be one thing I repent of, it is not having come
here, but having come alone, for a musical festival on the Rhine
is a singularly beautiful thing, and one that can be originated
by nothing but music, and in no other country but this. The
extremely dense population of this district—perhaps more
closely inhabited than any in Europe—the rapid, lively industry
and means of concentration, have contrived innumerable con-
veyances and locomotives by land and water, and for these two
days every one of these is put in activity. Since Friday steam-
boats, diligences of every description, Extrajposten, coaches,
private carriages, convey whole families from all parts of the
country, as far as twenty miles round, and still farther, for in-
stance from Breslau, to this festive town of Diisseldorf. All
these people are accustomed to look upon pleasure as a kind of
business, and take the utmost pains to enjoy themselves as
much as possible. Indeed they call forth all their powers for
the success of the festival; and it is only thus that such a
crowd, comprising so many different elements, can act together,
and accomplish such truly extraordinary things. Fancy that
yesterday and the day before they have been rehearsing from
eight in the morning till nine and even ten in the evening,
with short interruptions for rest and dinner; that to-day, the
day of the first concert (Felix’s overture and ‘ Israel ’), there is
a rehearsal of the orchestra from eight to ten, rehearsal of solos
here in the house from eleven till I don’t know when. At these
rehearsals not one of the voluntary performers stays away, and
disturbances of any kind are due to the paid wind instruments
only (they represent our royal chamber-musicians): all these
people do their hard work gladly and conscientiously in this
excessive heat, in order to enjoy themselves.

These furthering and encouraging elements are all still
further assisted by the non-existence of impediments. Here
they have no court, no meddling influence from higher
quarters, no Gmeral-Musikdirektor, no royal this or that.
It is a true public festival, for which reason I have not yet
noticed either policemen or gendarmes, and the magistrates284

1830-1834-

undertake amply to water the road from the town to the
concert-hall by means of the fire-engines.

The hall itself contributes much to the peculiar aspect of
the whole. On the Berlin road, about 2,000 yards from the
town, in a large shady garden belonging to a restaurant, they
have built a hall 135 feet long, about 70 feet broad, and I re-
gret to say only 27^ feet high (certainly 14 or 15 feet too low),
without any ornament whatever, and—here I blush—white-
washed.1 It seems incredible that music can sound well in a
whitewashed hall, and yet such is the case. The room holds
from 1,200 to 1,300 people; one third is partitioned off for
orchestra and chorus, the rest filled with rows of chairs fastened
to the ground and numbered, which I consider a better plan
than numbered seats or benches.

During the pauses, which are longer than with us (for in-
stance, the pause between the first and second part of ‘ Israel’
will be at least half an hour), all rush into the garden, where
quantities of bread and butter, Maitrank, Seltzerwater, curds
and whey, etc., are served on large and small tables to single
consumers or parties, this being the landlord’s festival, and the
whole thing not unlike a Kirmess. Meanwhile, the doors and
windows of the concert-room are opened, after which, when the
air is sufficiently renewed and the time allowed for the pause
has passed, a loud flourish is blown from the orchestra, and the
hall fills again with speed and spirit. Lazy or thirsty stragglers
are called in by a second flourish, and again Israel cries to the
Lord. Thus things went on morning and evening at the re-
hearsals, none of which I have missed.

Last night, however, the weather suddenly became much
cooler, it rained a little, and the sky looks gray and cloudy,
so that this beautiful order of confusion may this evening be dis-
turbed. As a musical festival comprehends a conductor, I sup-
pose I must say something about the conductor for this year—
Mr. Felix—he is hardly called anything else here. Dear wife,
this young man gives us much joy, and I often say to myself,
Three cheers for Marten’s Mill!2 He has indeed got an im-

1	This is aimed at Hensel, who could not bear whitewashed walls.

2	See vol. i. p. 73.FELIX AS A CONDUCTOR.

285

mense piece of work to do, but he does it with a spirit, energy,
seriousness, and cleverness actually miraculous in its effect. To
me at least it does appear like a miracle that 400 persons of all
sexes, classes, and ages, blown together like snow before the
wind, should let themselves be conducted and governed like
children by one of the youngest of them all, too young almost
to be a friend for any of them, and with no title or dignity
whatever. For instance, by one strict injunction (and but for
his pronunciation, which he may yet improve, he speaks well)
he has brought about what no other conductor to my know-
ledge has been able to do, the abolition of that disgusting
practice of tuning. On the first rehearsal day this charivari
was quite maddening; that same afternoon he addressed them
and forbade it, and when several of the players attempted to
disobey he once more forbade it very seriously, and I have not
heard them tune a single note since. Another abuse arose from
the successive arrival of strangers from all directions, who met
for the first time on the orchestra, and found their friends
there. It had become the fashion to use the orchestra as a
kind of parlour, where a great deal of talking and gossiping
went on, of course highly detrimental to the rehearsal, the
conductor having to shout with all his might, and even then
without being heard; and since new-comers dropped in up to
the very beginning, the disturbance was intolerable. The same
kind of thing began this time on the first rehearsal day, and
then Felix represented to them that he could not submit to it,
that he neither could nor would shout to enable them to hear
him, and that he must insist and rely on the most absolute
silence and quiet in the orchestra every time he had to speak.
He said this for a second time very decidedly and earnestly, and
then I assure you that I never saw an order so strictly obeyed.
They see that it is right and necessary, and as soon as he
knocks and is about to speak, a general pst is heard, and all is
dead silence.

By this means he has produced really fine nuances both in
chorus and orchestra, which all assure me were always wanting
before, and which of course gratify the performers and must
raise the credit of their execution in their own eyes and ears.286

1830-1834.

Yesterday morning there was a first rehearsal of Winter’s
‘ Macht der Tone ’	(‘ Power of Sound ’) ; only a small audience

present. Mme. Decker sang a grand aria di bravura, so beau-
tifully that audience and orchestra broke out into enthusiastic
applause. Last night we had the general rehearsal of Felix’s
overture and 4 Israel ’; the hall crowded. The overture was
very well received, hut the last chorus of the first part, ‘ He re-
buked the Red Sea, and it was dried up,’ and the first of the
second part, ‘ The horse and the rider hath He thrown into the
sea,’ excited amongst hearers and performers such uproarious
applause and enthusiasm as I have hardly ever witnessed. A
quarter of an hour passed before they could go on again. And
to think that this was in a paid general rehearsal! The
chorus, although excellent, appears to me to have too great a
predominance of male voices : all the painters are members of
it, and by no means feeble ones.

Every one here believes that Felix has written the over-
ture for the festival, and it is most characteristically adapted to
the oratorio ; it is a strange coincidence that really I could not
imagine a better one for ‘ Israel.’

Diisseldorf : May 28.

. . . Last night it was beautif ul! The Pastoral Symphony
exquisitely performed, then came a cantata by Wolff, dread-
fully dull, then ‘ Leonore,’ universally enchanting and electri-
fying. After that followed a pause of three quarters of an
hour. The garden was crowded. I met the Woringens ; and the
old president, a bottle of Maitrank in his pocket and a glass
in his hand, poured out to me and refreshed me. A flourish in
the hall, the stream rushes back. The orchestra, delighted
and surprised at its own success, had agreed upon a second
flourish for the moment that Felix came to his desk, and this
time the whole hall joined in long and loud cheers. Winter’s
‘Macht der Tone’ came next. One of the two Woringen girls,
a charming young creature, has expressed in two words all that
can be said about Wolff’s cantata and Winter’s piece. ‘ The
“ Macht der Tone ” at least has power to irritate you, but theFELIX CROWNED.

287

cantata only sends you to sleep.’ Mme. Decker, however, with
her aria di bravura created a great and good sensation. The
young ladies and, I believe, also the matrons of the chorus, had
supplied themselves each with a quantity of flowers, and
Fraulein Woringen kept hidden under her scarf during the
whole second part a velvet cushion with a laurel wreath.
The moment Felix descended he received a volley of flowers,
and (as I have been told, for I sat too far back to see anything,
and had not heard a syllable of it before) he made a face half
astonished, half angry, when the first bouquet flew about his
head. They pushed him, however, up to his place again, where
the eldest Miss Woringen wanted to crown him with the wreath.
They say he nearly bent down to the floor to escape this
homage. But a great strong man from the chorus held him up
and stopped him, so that he had to suffer the wreath to be put
on his head, after having four times defended himself against
it, and to wear it during a continued flourish of the orchestra
and cheers of the choir and audience. They say it became
him very well.

We were all invited to meet at the Schadows’ after the
concert, but I wanted to go home, so as not to get over-tired.
Wise Memnon was just as consistent as before. In coming out,
or rather in being pushed out, I met Schadow, and he would not
hear of my going home, but said he had something very im-
portant to tell me. In the crowd I gave my arm to Mme.
Schadow, whilst he went to look for the carriage; but as
neither the carriage nor he appeared, I walked home with Mme.
Schadow. Sure enough the exciting scene in the concert-room
had contributed to confound my wise intentions. Other people
were no better, for just as we arrived at the Schadows’ there
came also with the rest of the party the eldest Miss Woringen,
the one who had crowned Felix with the laurel wreath, and
who, being rather delicate, had agreed with me that we two
would meet at home. Now when we beheld each other at the
Schadows’ we laughed and exchanged mutual pardons for not
keeping our word. They all set about a great deal of fun and
merriment. Somebody sat down at the piano and played ‘ See
the conquering hero comes,’ and Felix had to put on his wreath283

1830-1834.

again, and they led him in a triumphal procession through the
rooms. Hardly had a cup of tea been swallowed when tables
and chairs were pushed aside and a wild waltzing and galoping
began. Felix had first to play, but by-and-by somebody took
his place at the piano and he rushed into the dance. Mme.
Decker presumed that he could not dance, being much too
grave and engaged with other things, but he soon convinced
her to the contrary, and when she rested for the first time she
said to me, ‘Felix’—he always goes by that name here—
‘ dances most splendidly.’ The merriment was at its height
when we sat down to bread and butter, for which Schadow
poured out streams of Aleatico and Vino Santo. Luckily I had
made a vow to abstain from wine, and therefore I did abstain,
and so did Felix. Now they all began to sing in chorus, and
very loudly too. Every one of us had to join, and when we
came home it was two o’clock. The important thing Schadow
had to say to me was to beg my advice about the choice of a
keepsake which the committee want to give Felix. They had
had Loos’s medal struck in gold for him, but did not like it,
and were going to keep it; some proposed a diamond ring,
others a set of Handel’s scores. I strongly objected to the ring,
and was more in favour of the music, but thought it best to
ask Felix himself, and Schadow agreed. I instantly did so,
and he chose a seal, for daily use. Schadow thought his choice
very judicious, and they have ordered a seal, after a design by
Schadow, in Berlin, where they say there is now an excellent
stone-engraver.

Yesterday morning at the rehearsal Woringen announced to
the orchestra and to the public that for the first time in the
history of the Festivals they intend to give a third concert.
This proposal, which had strongly been objected to by the com-
mittee, because of its novelty and the fear of its going amiss,
was received with universal applause, since Mme. Decker would
sing and Felix play, and the second part of ‘Israel’ be re-
peated. No rehearsals were needed, and yesterday at eleven
o’clock (I am writing on the 29th) the concert was given
according to the following prqgramme:—

1st part: Felix’s overture; scene from the ‘Freischiitz’DUSSELDORF HOSPITALITY.

289

(Mme. Decker); Concert-stuck by Weber (Felix); Air from
‘ Figaro ’ (Mme. Kufferath).

2nd part: Overture to 6 Leonore,’ second part of ‘ Israel.’

The execution was excellent throughout. Orchestra and
choir competed in a manner truly enthusiastic, and the last
chorus sounded like inspiration. Felix did not appear before
half past eleven, and I began to be uneasy—you know we
are not quartered together; but when he came, he was re-
ceived with three flourishes, and, after he had played, the whole
concert-room, chorus and orchestra especially, were thundering
with applause. The vocal solos were accompanied by him
alone at the piano ; and although he was thus at work during
the whole concert, and had been, as I heard afterwards, unwell
in the night, which was the reason of his coming so late, this
did not prevent him from partaking of a dinner arranged in
the garden, where the Cologne people presented him with a
poem ; then of a great excursion (no carriage, horse, even post-
horse, was left in Diisseldorf), and lastly of a ball in the
evening.

As for me, I felt so tired directly after the concert, so entirely
knocked up, that after a wearisome walk home I went straight
to bed, and have indulged in a twenty-four hours’ repose, in
order not to miss the grand dinner to-day, for which I was
invited yesterday in all ceremony by a deputation of the com-
mittee. They first came to the house, and not finding me
followed me to the concert, where the invitation was given
during the pause. So from now I am the town-councillor and
official guest.

The musical part of the meeting ended yesterday, and the
rest of it we shall to-day bring to a worthy and festive conclu-
sion. The days that have fallen to my share were beautiful,
never-to-be-forgotten ones, and doubly enjoyable owing to my
stay in this house. I owe them first to Felix, and next to all
of you who persuaded me to go, and to whom I am truly grateful.
Of this hospitable house I can only tell you when I come home
—writing will not do ; since 1813, at my Aunt Arnstein’s in
Vienna, I have experienced nothing like it. But I mustn’t
forget Mme. Bigot, whose mother took Felix into her house

VOL. 1.	u290

1830-1834.

when he was ill in Paris. There is something divine about
hospitality, and its not being practised in great towns, and
perhaps not being possible there, appears like a stain.

Now I understand Zeune, who, coming back from a journey
in this country, wanted all Germany to form an alliance of hos-
pitality, and am angry with myself for having in my metro-
politan obstinacy pronounced the idea simply ridiculous. But
how could it be otherwise ? We have only one opportunity of
showing hospitality, and that is when the court obliges us to
receive the suites of their guests in our houses.1 How can we
be expected to receive such guests with true hospitable kindness ?
It is enough that we give the royal commission pecuniary
carte blanche to practise. It is a long chapter!

To-morrow and the next few days I shall go about seeing
everything worth the trouble, and have a talk with Felix about
his future prospects, which appear to be taking a very satisfactory
shape. Sunday or Monday I shall leave, carrying with me
a deep sense of gratitude and lasting obligation to my kind
friends. I wish I could but requite part of the good I have
enjoyed! Perhaps we may find an opportunity of showing
kindness to one of the young Woringens who is soon coming to
Berlin as professor of jurisprudence.

Diisseldorf: May 31, 1833.

The musical bonfire has burnt out, and only a few sparks
now rise out of the ashes, but so much the more does the smoke
rise in the highest private circles; with which kind of smoke I
have nothing to do. In the winding up of the Festival, as
already described, things go on very merrily indeed, but though
still excited we are all tired.

The dinner of the day before yesterday passed off admirably :
Felix sat at the head of the table. He had before him a very
ornamental and tastefully arranged trophy of musical instru-

1 Throughout Germany, a regiment passing through a town is quartered
upon the inhabitants for the nights of their stay there, and a merely nominal
payment is appointed for their board. In Berlin and other large cities,
different houses are exempted from this imposition on condition that they
receive into their houses the suite of royal guests at the court. Such houses
are distinguished by the name of ‘free.’FELIX'S DUTIES AT DUSSELDORF.

291

ments and emblems, and on each side of him sat the ladies
Decker and Kufferath. After the usual loyal toast Schadow
proposed the health of Felix, with a few very well-spoken, well-
sounding, and most honourable and earnest words. A great many
other toasts soon followed, and along with them rather too much
noise and merriment at the lower end of the table, which
induced that part of the company which comprised the ladies
to break up early. You may fancy how gladly I joined them.

The consequence of all these doings is highly important
for Felix, and I will give you a short account of what is now
settled, reserving all particulars for a later time. Felix has
been nominated director of all the public and private musical
establishments of the town for a period of three years, with a
salary of 600 thalers (corresponding to about 800 to 900 thalers
at Berlin). His engagement begins on October 1, and he has
a three months’ leave of absence every year, which he is allowed
to take at any time between May and November. His public
duty consists in conducting the church-music, his private obli-
gations are the direction of the singing and instrumental associa-
tions—hitherto separated but now to be united—and the arrange-
ment of from four to eight annual concerts of these associations,
besides the musical festivals. I shall soon be with you, and then
give you all the particulars, the origin of the whole affair, and
the important ulterior consequences of Felix’s position (which
at once made me advise him to accept), the useful and important
school it will be for him, the exceptionally agreeable circum-
stances attending the engagement, and the clever and noble con-
duct throughout of Felix himself. I am sure, dear Leah, that
you will agree with me in rejoicing to see Felix in a fixed
appointment, occupying him sufficiently but not too much in
Germany, not far from us, and on the sure and straight road
towards his higher ends, in artistic surroundings, beloved and
honoured in a really extraordinary degree, enjoying unlimited
confidence, at the head of established institutions looking entirely
to him for their proper direction and development. I know
not what position I could desire more suitable for him and his
future.

Wise Memnon has written, £ I am sure I shall not go to292

1830-1834.

London,’ and now in consequence of a letter from there received
yesterday he is not quite sure whether he will not accompany
Felix to Calais. I am going to decide two hours before his
departure and send you word then.

One thing I especially like about Felix’s position here is,
that whilst so many others have titles without an office, he will
have a real office without a title.

Diisseldorf : June 2, 1833.

I have now made up my mind to accompany Felix to-morrow
morning. 0 Memnon ! Meanwhile vogue—not la gallre, but
le bateau d vapeur !

Yesterday we were till one o’clock at night with Immer-
mann, who read to us his 4 Hofer,’ which he has completely
altered: he assured me that Bartholdy’s work on Tyrol had
proved extremely useful to him. He begs to be kindly remem-
bered to you, and intends paying us a visit in November on his
way home from the Tyrol, where he is going in September. He is
undoubtedly a very interesting man. I shall tell you more about
him when we meet, or else in my letters from Buenos Ayres or
the Canary Islands, or Greece or Constantinople, car il n'y a pas
de raison pour que cela finisse. Anyhow, (D.V.), I shall dine in
London on Thursday. Farewell, all of you !

Abraham had probably been prevailed on by Felix to come
to his beloved England. The father’s letter contains many
pleasant jokes about the son’s partiality for that country. For
instance: 4 Felix in his enthusiasm calls the shorn sunburnt
yellow meadows 44 green,” the black and gray horizon “blue,”
which I do not.’ Or in another place: 4 This morning at four-
teen minutes past nine the sun was just powerful enough to
give a yellow tinge to the mist, and the air was just like the
smoke of a great fire. 44 A very fine morning! ” said my barber
(here called hairdresser j. 44 Is it ? ” asked I. 44 Yes, a very, fine
morning! ” and so I learnt what a fine summer morning here
is like. Now, about noon, the mist has carried the victory, and
along with a sultry heat the light is that of a Berlin November
afternoon about four o’clock. I have to move my table closeFIRST IMPRESSIONS OF LONDON.

293

to the window in order to see, not what I am writing, but that
I am writing at all. Felix is gone to St. Paul’s to play the organ,
whilst I cannot make up my mind to leave the room. When
he comes home I am sure he will say that nowhere there are
such glorious summer days as in London.’

From this journey likewise Abraham wrote home a good
many letters, of which we give the following extracts :—

Yesterday morning (the day after the arrival) I first
went with Felix to Doxat’s. On our way we passed St. Paul’s,
and I was surprised to find this mighty building in the midst of
the city, having always imagined it in quite a different part of
the town. But now I can explain to myself why that part of
it which rises so high into the air is disproportionately large
compared to the lower part of the building. In the city there
is no room left except high in the air ! From here we walked
a long distance to go to Moscheles’, who had asked us to dinner;
the invitation had reached us through Neukomm at the rehearsal.
I passed Oxford Street, Regent Street, Portland Place, Regent’s
Park, and must confess that in the splendour and taste of the
buildings, elegance and cleanliness of the streets, good pave-
ments, etc.—in short, in everything that impresses your senses
without producing an effect on your mind, I have not seen any-
thing to be compared to the wonders of that one hour’s walk.
But when I think of the grand aspect of the Tuileries, the Place
Louis XV., the Champs Elysees, the Boulevards and Quais which
encircle it all, and the certain effect which that point on the
globe has day by day for years together never failed to produce
on me, I can only say, London is the richest town and Paris
the greatest town I ever saw. London, to be sure, is the largest
also ; London in the proper sense of the name (not being inclosed
in walls) has now 1,400,000 inhabitants, and is surrounded in all
directions and at small distances by independent towns, some of
which have 30,000 or 40,000 inhabitants. These towns, as
Klingemann justly remarks, are anxiously watching the gigantic
jaws which will inevitably swallow them very soon.

To-day is Sunday, four o’clock in the afternoon, and I am
still in slippers. The street is perfectly quiet, and not only do294

1830-1834-

I think this stillness very pleasant, but the whole tenor of the
London Sunday appears to me perfectly explained by its strict
necessity ; whereas hitherto the prejudiced and stupid accounts of
travellers and authors have made me consider it ridiculous and
incredible. Sunday is as indispensable to the Londoners as
fallow-time is to the fields, winter to the vegetation, night to
day. Sunday is not kept only because a law commands it; but
that law is here more than anywhere else the evident expression of
the general wish, the urgent want. If the London people lived
one year without the Sunday they would all and each turn mad
or imbecile ; and the more straining, fatiguing, and thoroughly
exciting the life of all classes of population in London is during
the six week-days, the more strictly will the great mass keep
Sunday without any compulsion.

But I forget that I am writing from London, where every
line makes a letter more expensive, and must try to be shorter.
You will like, however, to know how truly beloved and highly
esteemed Felix is here. I feel it best par ricochet. Old Mr.
Horsley wanted to pay me a great compliment to-day by saying
that he must call me happy to be the son and the father of a
great man. ‘Where is the cat?’ thought I, and might have
turned angry if I had not many times already had my joke
about it and about myself for standing like a dash between
father and son.

I converse in Italian with Horsley, for he speaks neither
German nor French, and of Italian at least we are equally
ignorant. Heaven knows what we have said and how we have
understood one another. As regards my English, I do indeed
call out, ‘ How do you do, sir ? ’ ‘ Waiter, a mutton chop,’ and
other similarly profound phrases, but I shall not have forgotten
my German when I get home, and I have enough vanity left
not to speak English to ladies. How shall I manage next week ?
I have accepted two dinner-engagements, at the Attwoods’ and
Horsleys’—no ‘ parties,’ but family dinners, and I must speak
English. Whether it comes out of chest, head, or throat, it can
not come out of my brains, for it is not in them.

To-day I have received a letter from you via Diisseldorf,
the first for a long time. You say you are impatiently waitingLONDON AND PARIS.

2}7

for news of us. Then my letters must have been miscarried, for
indeed I have written many, and long and broad ones too,
detailed, circumstantial. Oh, if they are all lost!

If by special favour you obtain a card of admission to Lord
Leveson Gower’s gallery, and the weather is fine, you see, as I
shall hereafter describe to you, a beautiful arrangement of pic-
tures, for half of which we might give our museum three times
over. Amongst others there are three Raphaels, so undeniably
genuine that X. would declare them to be Murillos, and the
author of our museum-catalogue (what on earth is his name ?)
would make them out to be juvenile works of Pimperlepaccio’s.

June 12, 1833.

... 0 Sebastian, I miss you here among many others, and
I thank God that you are not the child four and a half years’
old which a few days ago was advertised in thousands of placards
as £ missing.’ The thought of it never leaves me, and is inter-
woven as a black thread with my London life. The poor child
has surely not been brought back, but was most probably stolen
and thrown into the street, starved and naked, to be brought up
by a gang of beggars and thieves. And all this because the
parents perhaps lost sight of it for half a minute. So much for
Londonl

I believe I have found a characteristic difference between
London and Paris. In Paris, Germans, English, Chinese, and
Turks may enjoy all the advantages of the place without giving
up anything of their individual or national peculiarities ; they
can fancy that Paris is made for them, and belongs to them.
Whether this be a cause or a consequence of the fact that an
eighth part of the inhabitants are strangers, is no matter. But
in England, I mean to say in London, strangers are ignored.
Strangers are not to exist, there are English people only. A
foreigner must entirely renounce his national and individual
peculiarities, and must quite desert over to Anglisation and
Londonisation to enjoy existence or opinions. This explains to
me and somewhat excuses why foreigners who have lived a certain
time in England appear much more like apes to us than those
coming from France. You are almost obliged to pass through1830-1834.

an ape-like existence, until the adopted habits grow into a second
nature—present company excepted, I mean Rosen, Klingemann,
and Felix, although they all three nod their heads to the right
when they bid you good-morning. Although I acknowledge
that a native Englishman, or a foreigner who has quite adopted
London nature, may enjoy the very highest degree of comfort,
it is not to be denied that whoever can or will not be a deserter
from his own nationality, like Count Piickler and myself, and
ivill remain a long tail,1 must miss and suffer a great deal here;
for comfort, beside the typical English comfort, there is none.
The final conclusion is, that I shall not make a long stay here,
and intend to reserve all sorts of rhodomontade for my travelling
reports at home.

I have just become lighter by half a guinea (weighing 3^
thalers), to hear Cramer play in his concert; but I mind it less
than 1/. 14s. (about 12 thalers) which I paid at Dollond’s for a
very simple pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, through which I see
just as much as through Petitpierre’s two thaler ones, viz. as
much as without them—nothing. I therefore know nothing of
all the beauties Felix fell in love with at the morning concert,
nothing but that they all wore bonnets and filled the whole
inner space of the hall, three or four hundred Venuses in a
heap. Cramer’s playing is neat, elegant, soft, and refined ; his
concerto, although nothing remarkable, was pleasant to hear.

Quicker even than the steamer on the river and the horses
in the street the guineas run out of one’s pocket here; there is
no stopping them, and I am surprised at the equanimity with
which I see them glide out of my purse into that big gulf
whence they never return. What a fool is a poor Berlin citizen
here 1 For what I have spent here on carriage hire I could
purchase the whole of the public carriages of Berlin. So I
have become quite close-fisted. Not a penny shall the tailors
make out of me here; and I go on wearing my green wig with
wonderful obstinacy (yours, 0 Hensel and Fanny, resembles a
river-god’s more than that of an honest mortal), although two
hairdressers have already lavished on it all the abuse in the

An allusion to the English custom of cutting the horses’ tails.FELIX AT ST. PAULS.

297

English language. I pretend not to understand anything, and
answer, 4 Very well.’

Do not expect a letter from me on Sunday; I shall probably
not write again for a week, and will employ this week in some
sight-seeing—not that I expect to be much interested with, for
instance, the breweries or the houses of parliament: beer casks
I fancy about the size of Mont Blanc, and pails like the
Heidelberg tun; bigger I do not suppose they will be. And
as for the M.P.s, whom I can neither see nor understand, I
might just as well buy their portraits and make their speeches
myself, or read them in the Staatszeituug. But one must
see something.

June 23.

You know that merchants who pay fifty per cent, are among
the most honest people, and so my conscience to some degree
acquits me when I reflect that each time I wanted to give you
an account of my doings I have put down nearly one half of my
subject. It is now six o’clock in the afternoon; I got up at
eight in the morning, and until now have not found time to
begin this letter, which must be interrupted again as soon as
Felix has finished shaving. This morning he played the organ
at St. Paul’s, and, as the bellows-blowers had gone, Klingemann
and two other gentlemen supplied their places. Felix played
an introduction and a fugue, then extemporised, then played one
of Attwood’s coronation anthems with him, for four hands, and
lastly three pieces by Bach. It sounded very well; the church
was empty, only two ladies, frequenters of the Philharmonic,
stole in and listened unseen. From there we went to a regular
Sunday-quartet which takes place at a private gentleman’s,1
in the inmost recess of his house. We chanced upon a quartet
by Onslow; two of Onslow’s quartets had been played already.
They wanted to perform Felix’s octet, but I begged for the
quintet, and they played it, and gave the octet over and above.
At four o’clock I came home and wanted to write, but just as
I had written ‘ London ’ Baron Biilow came and sat with me for
an hour and a half. It is a much safer plan to talk about the
future, for the past is too soon forgotten. I must, however, tell

1 Mr. Alsager’s.298

1830-1834-

you, dear Hensel, that the day before yesterday I saw the
exhibition of the works of living artists. The catalogue con-
tained the most celebrated names and titles, but among the
pictures there were no masterpieces. Never and nowhere have
I seen such a heap of rubbish, not a single picture that betrayed
anything but want of taste and talent, not one, I venture to
say, that bore a trace of practical knowledge. Felix does not
quite agree with me: he thinks a painting by Wilkie, a young
Capuchin at confession, interesting and good, and for the sake
of peace I give in and acknowledge one half of his praise.
The aged Pater who receives the confession is sufficiently hard
and grim; but as for the young one, I maintain (remembering
Michel Wolf) that he must have taken an emetic for the occasion,
and is just going to bring up his confession. There are num-
bers of the most wretched portraits, family groups, landscapes,
altogether an abomination; a pity for the large room, very
favourably lighted from above, in which these monsters were
hanging.

You are uneasy, dear Leah, on account of not finding any-
thing in our papers about the Diisseldorf festival, and you want
to know the reason. I can imagine a very plausible one. If
well and faithfully written it would make an interesting and
amusing article, and with such our newspapers are not in the
habit of spoiling their readers.

July 6, 1833.

I begin a fresh letter a tout hasard, though I sent off one
only yesterday and have not up to this moment received a new
one from you. The west wind does not care for my impatience,
and will not become east before I cross over, and then I shall
have it blowing against me. I suppose I must attribute it to
my unexpectedly long absence from you, the different language,
and the entire change in my surroundings, all of which ‘ like a
new garment cleave not to their mould ’—that the present seems
cut off, and that my thoughts dwell so much more on the
remote past. Here in London I think more of Hamburg than
of Berlin, and revive, in grateful reminiscence of all the good
that has been granted to me with you and through you, thoseGREENWICH.

299

summers of 1808 and 1809. Not only do I daily think of our
lovely pavilion in Flors Hof on the Elbe, with the view of the fine
ships below, in foggy, smoky, heavy-aired, oppressive London,
but I have been twice most especially reminded of it, at Green-
wich and at Portsmouth. In Greenwich we dined at an inn
situated on the Thames, the front wall consisting entirely of
windows, overlooking the river in all directions. Amongst the
company was my son, now a man, whom as a boy I wheeled about
in a child’s carriage at Flors Hof; you are missing, but thank
G-od only for the present moment—others, alas, for ever I The
time was different, but, as the Elbe did then, so the Thames now
refreshed us with its keen invigorating air; and innumerable
ships, large and small, moving by steam, wind, or oars, produced
life and variety in almost perfect silence, that peculiar and
gratifying charm about ships. Aged sailors from the hospital,
young boatmen from the ships, all sorts of people stood about
on the embankment under our windows, now and then merrily
cheering the vessels, but mostly quietly gazing on the water. A
thousand subjects for marine paintings followed each other; and
with all the many reasons I can think of why the English have no
artists, I still do not understand why they should not have, nor
ever have had, a marine painter.

July 7.

I will try to take up Greenwich once more, and then tell
you to-morrow about our last journey. Les Invalides and
Greenwich Hospital represent France and England, army and
navy. The former have grown old but not quieted down by a
wild roving life, often leading to the most revolting crimes
and immoralities, with cruelty and oppression far exceeding
the demands of self-defence, and are even now kept in ex-
citement by their whole entourage, trophies, banners, guns,
generally not even their own spoil, and they are full of life and
curiosity, and therefore less frequent visitors of their chapel than
of the Bibliothdque des Invalides. The others, bearing the un-
deniable stamp of the element on which they have spent their
life, of the narrow space which was their world, the hard
work which was their lot, and the fearfully despotic discipline300

1830-1834.

which was their education, of the calm pertinacity which alone
made them hear and conquer the thousand dangers which
surrounded them. This bravery hardly ever or only in the rare
cases of boarding showed itself in fierce struggle or individual
acts of daring, which lose their importance and their effect
immediately after the battle is won or lost. They therefore
appear tired, quiet, thoughtful, gloomy, rude perhaps, but calm
in all their movements, slow, respectable in their outward
demeanour. About four thousand of them live in the hospital,
which consists of two buildings of similar size and appearance,
separated by a large open space and joined by iron railings.
Both buildings consist of long rooms divided on the side opposite
to the windows into a number of equal cells resembling cabins,
each 5 feet broad and 6 feet long, inhabited by one man and
furnished with a bed, which tabes up the side towards the wall.
This is provided for them, but the rest of the furniture and
equipment they must find themselves. At the height of about
7 feet each cabin is closed by a movable ceiling, which we found
open everywhere, but which they can shut at night, if it is
cold. In each room there is a large fireplace, but I saw no
other contrivances for heating. Of library not a trace, but in
many cells I found books, and a great many had caricatures.
All the cabins without exception were clean and in good order.
On the days when the public is admitted—and I think this is
every day—the doors of all the cabins are opened, and everybody
may examine them. Better control there could not be for the
pensioners or for the board of management, and the result is
evident. Each room bears the name of a ship, and as much as
possible it is so contrived that those who have served together
in the same ship are quartered in the same room. I believe
they dine together, and have as much meat and beer for dinner
and tea and bread for supper as they like. At a small distance
from these buildings, on an eminence which fills up the back-
ground between the two, is the observatory, Herschel’s scene of
action. Under these circumstances and with these surroundings,
looking upon the Thames, which is broader here than the Ehine
at Coblenz or Mayence, and upon the innumerable ships gliding
over the river (ships regarded, however, by them with a kind ofMALIBRAN.

301

proud contempt, as merchant-ships and not men-of-war), those
old fellows who have not found their ultimate rest in the water
await it in the earth. I liked them very much indeed. Per-
haps the hospital would have been more appropriately placed
at Portsmouth, as its inhabitants, tough and safe like the ropes
on which they so often hung over the depths, would then have
had cradle and grave together; for Portsmouth is a harbour of
war, and the ships there are men-of-war!—aristocrats, calling
themselves 4 men-of-war,’ to distinguish themselves from the
common herd of other vessels. . . .

I had the choice last night of going to Mrs. Austin’s or of
hearing Malibran, who, as you may remember, made hardly
any impression on me when I heard her for the first time on
the stage.

I decided for Malibran, et j’ai eu le nez fin. I dined with
Klingemann, Felix being in the country, too far off for me to
join him, and we arrived at our party about half past ten. Me
just came in for a quartet of Haydn’s, which De Beriot played
with sympathy, spirit, and precision, in short very beautifully,
although perhaps now and then adding some modern French
effects. Then Mme. Malibran sang some rather dull sacred
music by the gentleman of the house, with great simplicity and
exquisite delivery. After the singing of a four-part English
madrigal and a glee, during which Felix arrived (I leave him
to give you a description of these thoroughly English, very
peculiar, and very pleasing airs), Mme. Malibran sat down and
gave us a Spanish song, then at Felix's request two others, then
an English sea song, and finally a French tambour-ditty.
Although by this it is evident that this lady (J. P. Schmidt
would call her 4 our genial M. M.’) commands four languages in
her singing (Italian is a matter of course), that does not show,
any more than I can describe it, with what flowing, glowing, and
effervescing power and expression, what caprice and boldness,
passion and esprit, with what assurance and consciousness of
her means this woman, whom now I do appreciate, sang these
ditties. From the same throat issued Spanish passion, French
coquetry, with again a touch of primitiveness, English unpolished
soundness, and also that somewhat frivolous but fresh and most302

1830-1834.

characteristic French audacity, with plenty of her own character-
istic individuality: she loved, yearned, rowed, and drummed
with such wonderful self-possession, such bold command and
lavish expenditure of her inexhaustible means, that one may
truly say she sang songs without words, she sang sentiments,
effects, situations. It was something quite new, and I wish you
could have heard her! Felix, who justly or at any rate wisely
refused to perform after her, was fetched by her from the adjoin-
ing room and forced to the piano. He extemporised to every-
body’s delight and my satisfaction on the airs she had just sung.
After that she gave us two more Spanish songs, and lastly, with
two daughters of the house, accompanied by Felix, the trio from
the ‘ Matrimonio,’ exquisitely!

July 9.—Thanks and praise to God, and all happiness
and blessing to you, dear Rebecca [on the birth of her child].
Well done ! I am very glad! To Dirichlet I do not, at least
not by written word, send a congratulation, as he could not even
find it in his heart to write a line to me on this occasion. He
might at least have put down: 2 + 1=3. [Dirichlet was the
most lazy correspondent.1]

He had fixed the very day of his departure, when an accident
similar to that which befell Felix in 1829 crossed his plans.
He hurt his shinbone slightly, and at first took no care of it,
till, through neglect, it became a considerable wound. On July
29 he had to tell the news to his wife, and there he lay confined
to his room, and unable to leave London before August 25.
What attention and kindness he received during his illness he
may tell us himself.

August 1.

Arrowroot, genuine East Indian—‘ one of my clerks brought
it home from India not long ago’; port-wine forty years old,
another kind of a more recent vintage containing no brandy—
4 my brother got it from Portugal for his own use ’; Scotch
orange-marmalade—4 my uncle McLero, chief of a Scottish clan,

1 The news had come that on the 6th Eebecca had given birth to her first
child. About her marriage with Professor Dirichlet, see p. 315.LONDON FRIENDS.

303

who owns one half of the Isle of My, has it made in his own
house ’; flowers, more beautiful and more fragrant than which
all England cannot produce—‘they come from our garden, we
grow them ourselves ’; engravings ancient and modern, un-
known to me and partly very interesting.’ To whom do you
think I am indebted for all this, and daily visits and daily
inquiries for the last fortnight into the bargain? To the
Doxats ? I have not seen them nor heard of them. The Gold-
schmidts ? 0 no, to them I owe more. Moscheles and his wife ?
No, surely not, for of what they do for me I cannot give an
articled list and account. My feeling must invent new words
before I am able to express that, nor can I ever with dry eyes
see them leave me. But in Hanover Terrace, Eegent’s Park,
there live three sisters, unmarried, probably very rich, at any
rate well off, highly fashionable, related to the first families
in Scotland, and connected through their brothers’ wives with
very eminent London people, more direct descendants of some
Scottish king of yore than I am of Schaul Wohl,1 the one night’s
king of Poland. The eldest draws, and is very fond of paintings,
and possesses some also ; the second takes an interest in politics,
and is a Tory; the youngest, still very pretty indeed, is an
enthusiast and musical, and studies German. Felix has known
them before, but never mentioned them to me, and I made their
acquaintance without his knowledge at the Moscheles’. I was
fortunate enough to gain their friendship, not so much through
my talking of pictures with Miss Margaret (long life though, to
pictures! they have always brought me enjoyment and luck),
but probably more through my allowing them to get admission
for me to several important galleries scarcely accessible to
strangers, and to take me there in their carriage. I also
accepted tickets to both Houses of Parliament, and showed
several other similar acts of condescension, such as that of
accepting their invitation to an evening party. This happened

1 According to a family tradition, one of the ancestors of the Mendelssohns,
Rabbi Saul, at one of the periodic vacancies in the royal Republic of Poland,
wore the Polish crown for one night. They elected him in the evening for a
decent remuneration in ready money, and hastened the following morning to
kill him. W. Goltbaum gives a different account in his Entlcgeno Kultwen,
Berlin 1877, A. Hoffmann, p. 296.3°4

1830-1834.

to take place on the Monday on which I first suffered from my
leg. I could not quite conceal my pain, and, being taken ill
directly afterwards, the good ladies attributed it to their soiree,
and hardly knew what to do in their anxiety. The first day
they made a proper call on me, which certainly was amiable ;
but when I declined to receive them, they did not slacken in
their kind attentions, which I call still more amiable. If from
all this, dear Leah, you draw the following conclusions—1, that
I am becoming a fat; 2, that I have taken to drinking; 3, that
I am recovering—I must confess that I have already had my
own misgivings about Nos. 1 and 2, and as for No. 3 the doctors
are decidedly of the same opinion since yesterday. I am not
very uneasy about No. 1, but I shall certainly drink a great
deal of wine in Berlin too—it agrees capitally with me—and
eat plenty of meat also. Your health, Hensel!

August 2.—Madame Moscheles, my real kind fairy, who
has been here already this morning to read the Times to me,
and has promised to call again in the evening, has requested me
to remember her kindly to you, and to tell you that you must
believe nothing of my eulogium of her. But I say believe all
the good, and add still more—the constant, attentive, graceful,
never overpressing good-nature which prompts all her kind
actions, which women only can possess, and among them per-
haps especially a German with English experience. The Jewish
blood n'y gate rien! But with all that, I begin to be very
impatient, and to receive all the kindness of my friends with
less joy at their good offices than regret at owing them to others
instead of to you.

You will be amused to hear that one of the Miss Alexanders,
the one who is fond of painting, said to me, after I had spoken
a great deal about you, that she was convinced you must be like
one of Raphaers Madonnas. Now, although I felt flattered by
the result of my description, and although, notwithstanding my
love for the Jardiniere, I have set ten thousand times more
store by you than by all Raphael’s Madonnas together, I would
not make use of this jesuitic pretext, but said at once that her
fancy carried* her too far; that as regards the outlines of your
features your face cannot be compared to the cheap beauty of aLONDON HOSPITALITY.

3°5

picture. But she would not hear of this, and after a long dis-
pute only consented to the compromise that if you were not like
one of Raphael’s Madonnas you must certainly be like one of
Guido’s; and there we left it. I was glad to know better, and
how little a painted Madonna or Venus (even if Madame B. had
sat as a model) would have suited me. Yesterday when the
three ladies (who have not only the black costume like the
three ladies in the 4 Flauto Magico,’ but also the peculiarity
that each brings her own gift) called on me again, the topic
was resumed, and Felix’s book with Hensel’s drawings made its
appearance. Although Hensel,as a true son-in-law and Fanny’s
husband, has not flattered you or me in the slightest degree in
this book, he would not, nor could he, exaggerate (as is generally
his propensity) the brightness of your eyes, and on them seized
Miss Margaret to prove to me that she had not been mistaken. I
confessed myself vanquished, and when I looked at my own
portrait I pitied you in my thoughts, and at the same time
gratefully adored you for your unworthy choice.

August 9.

I am writing in my old room again, and have walked down-
stairs without difficulty or exertion, so I may hope for a speedy
end of this Intermezzo semi serio. On examination of my cup-
board I found, half a pudding, a pie, a very fine bunch of grapes
(presents from my landlady), six pots of Scotch marmalade,
and one pot of other preserve (Misses Alexander), two paper-
bags full of cakes (Madame Moscheles), a roast fowl (Madame
Goldschmidt), a bottle of delicious port wine without brandy
(Misses Alexander), and a ditto of excellent claret (Madame Gold-
schmidt), all which demonstrates that if some people starve
here others do not. But seriously, when those two most awful
calamities, poverty and disease, are united—as they are to
such an extent—what boundless and horrible misery it must
be 1 I hope that my reflection on it will not pass away with-
out bearing its fruit—a reflection which has most vividly
occupied my mind of late, and especially so when I heard a
few days ago that the wife and two children of an Irish labourer
had died of hunger here, whilst I, a stranger, am receiving
vol. 1.	x3°6

1830-1834.

kindness and attention from all sides.1 Next to God, and
more even than to my doctor, I owe my recovery to one whom,
away from you, I like best being indebted to, and that is Felix.
I can never tell you what be has done for me, what treasures
of love, patience, perseverance, grave kindness, and tenderest
care be has lavished on me; and much as I am obliged to him
for the thousand marks of kindness and attention I received at
other hands for his sake, the best ever came from himself, and
my best thanks are to him.

It happened that during that very time a young English-
man acquainted with the family was laid up with an injured
knee at Berlin. Abraham of course urgently expressed his
wish that Leah should do all she could to make him comfort-
able in providing for his creature comforts, and, what he makes
an especial point, in visiting him. The letter concludes : ‘ But
why do I say so much ? You are yourself, and you are your
mother’s daughter. Charity and thoughtful care and kindness
are your hereditary virtues, and all I wish for has probably been
done already, all except perhaps the visit to the patient, because
that is not Berlin custom ; but never you mind custom, and do
what is sure to be a good action.’

At last the moment so long desired had arrived, and
Abraham prepared for his departure. Felix wanted to accom-
pany him to Berlin and to stay there a few days previous to
beginning his duties at Diisseldorf. But they resolved to
surprise the family with his visit, and so Abraham wrote in his
last letter from London : ‘ I have made the acquaintance of a
young man who is going to travel to the North of Germany
and to stay a few days at Berlin. I like him very well indeed,
and if he continues to please me I shall propose our travelling
together. He has a nice musical talent, and I think you will
like him too. When I remember the lively interest you, dear
wife, took in M. Lechat (more a sisterly than a motherly one),
and when I remember your enthusiasm not long ago about
Klingemann’s beauty; when, further, I consider how' much this

1 After his return home, Abraham Mendelssohn Bartholdy made a founda-
tion in a Berlin- hospital to provide for the gratuitous nursing of a sick
person.ALPHONSE LOVIE.

307

new musical acquaintance will interest you, Fanny, I almost
look on what I am about to do as too risky, and feel that I
must apologise to you, dear Hensel, for bringing him home. I
have already hit on a plan of politely pushing him into a cab
at the gates of Berlin, so as to enter the house without him and
not find a divided interest the very first moment. Fortunately
the whole thing will not last long, as he must soon proceed on
his journey; and if you put me in the background for a young
artist, I shall forsake you all for that still younger Sebastian.
Everything you write about him touches and delights me, and
I have a real longing to see him again. I have just noticed
that I forgot to tell you the name of my new acquaintance.
The young man is called Alphonse Lovie, and a painter by
profession, his forte being portraits in pen-and-ink, which a3
his own peculiar style he has carried to a wonderful degree of
perfection. I have seen him again to-day, and consider it as
settled that we shall travel together.

And so, whilst at Berlin they were puzzling to know who
this Alphonse Lovie might be, to whom the father had, contrary
to his habit, taken such a sudden liking, and whilst Fanny, quite
disheartened, noted down in her diary her disappointment at
not seeing Felix, whose prolonged absence in England she
could not understand, Abraham and Mr. Lovie, alias Felix
Mendelssohn, crossed the Channel, and, after a short stay at
Horchheim, hastened to Berlin. The surprise was completely
successful. Felix spent a few happy days with the family, and
then went to Diisseldorf, where we leave him for a time, pursu-
ing the events that had happened at Berlin.

The youngest son, Paul, also had, on May 6, 1831, left the
parental roof, and gone as a merchant to London, where he was
received with open arms by Klingemann. The latter wrote to
Paul regarding the time of his arrival in London: ‘You are
coming to England at the right moment, just in time for the
Reform Bill, and in that respect are more fortunate than Felix,
who arrived when the Catholic Emancipation Bill was passed
and forgotten a whole fortnight, whilst he in his innocence looked
about for it in all directions and was quite astonished not to3o3

1830-1834.

see it. Had you, for instance, arrived the day before yesterday,
when public opinion was loudly demanding an illumination for
the benefit of the oil and tallow trade, all our dark windows
might have been smashed, so that the next day you would have
believed in one kind of freedom at least, freedom of air. More-
over, you would have heard the strange roar of an imposing
mass of people passing through the streets like a hurricane, and
inspiring respect by its very want of respectability. I have a
mind to treat you in this letter to some dreadful inventions
about politics, so that the people at home may ultimately spoil
and pet you the more for believing that you are walking into a
dangerous crater of revolution ; but I think there is no need
for it: they are a good and loving set, your relatives.’

For the one remaining child, Rebecca, the time had also
come that would place her on her own track in life. She was
less musical than Felix and Fanny, but distinguished beyond
all the others by the acuteness of her understanding, her bright
intellect and ready wit.

No sooner was Fanny’s engagement everybody’s secret than
the younger sister was besieged by men of eminent intellect and
talent, claimants for her hand. None of them, however, suc-
ceeded in winning Rebecca’s affections, until Professor Dirichlet
(before mentioned in a letter of Fanny’s to Klingemann
entered the lists and carried away the victory from all rivals.

See p. 164.DIRICHLET.

Gustav Peter Lejeune Dirichlet was born on the 13th of
February, 1805, at Diiren, a little town between Cologne and
Aix-la-Chapelle, where his father was Director of the post-
office. The father, a gentle, pleasant, amiable man, and the
mother, a cultivated, intellectual woman, gave their clever
boy a careful education, although they must now and then
have had a hard time of it, as they were far from well off, rich
only in children, of whom they possessed eleven. From his
early youth the boy had showed a rare capacity and love for
mathematics. Before he was twelve years old he used to spend
all his pocket-money in the purchase of mathematical books,
and employed all his leisure time, and especially the evening,
in the study of them. To those who tried to dissuade him
from this pursuit, and represented to him that he could not
possibly understand those books, he replied, 41 read them
until I understand them.’ His parents wished him to become
a merchant, but the boy showed such a great aversion to this
profession, and so keen a desire for study, that they sent him in
1817 to Bonn, to the Gymnasium. Thus he left his parents’
house, at the age of twelve years, never to come back there but
for short visits. He remained two years in Bonn, working hard,
especially in mathematics and history. Of all historical events,
then already and subsequently through his whole life, it was
French history that interested him principally, and he acquired
a profound knowledge of the literature upon this subject. This
was partly the consequence of the accounts of his parents, who
had during a time even as French subjects witnessed the grand
drame, partly of a period in his own life, which we shall have to
speak about. But above all, his decidedly liberal views, to which3io

DIRICHLET.

he remained faithful as long as he lived, and which made him
acknowledge and love the French Revolution as the origin of
all free movements on the Continent, gave this direction to his
studies. After those two years he went to the Jesuits’ College
at Cologne (he was a Roman Catholic), and enjoyed the advan-
tage of having George Simon Ohm (subsequently famous for
his discovery of the law of electric resistance, called after him)
as his teacher in mathematics. Thanks to Ohm’s instruction
and his own application, Dirichlet made great progress in his
favourite study. In the year 1821, at the age of sixteen, he left
school after passing his examinations for the university. His
parents had given up the plan of a mercantile profession, but
now they begged their son to choose at least a study offering
a good chance of a career, for instance law. Dirichlet, how-
ever, once more succeeded in winning over his sensible and
loving parents to his plan, by modestly hut firmly declaring
that he would comply, and devote his days to the study for
a profession, but reserve his nights for pursuing mathematics.
They gave their consent to his becoming a mathematician.

But where was he to find an opportunity for this study ?
Mathematics in Germany were then in a sad state of neglect.
The university lectures hardly ever embraced more than ele-
mentary mathematics, the professors could not satisfy Dirich-
let’s desire of knowledge. Gauss’s was the only celebrated
name, but he did not possess the gift of communicating his
knowledge to others; as soon as he understood a problem
himself, he was satisfied and had done with it. It is said to
have happened more than once that when a mathematician
came to him with a new discovery about which he wanted the
learned man’s opinion, Gauss answered: ‘ Yes, yes, you are
quite right, I found that out ten years ago; just open that
drawer! ’ And out came an old faded paper, on which the
astonished visitor found all complete—and generally in a much
better, more pregnant form—his own bran-new discovery. This
self-sufficient seclusion of course made Gauss anything but a
good teacher. In France, however, that is to say in Paris
(for in this branch of human activity too Felix’s word held
good, that ‘Paris is France’) mathematics were at this veryHIS EARLY STRUGGLES.

3i 1

time in a flourishing state, and men like Laplace, Legendre,
Fourier, Poisson, and Cauchy stood forth as brilliant meteors.
Paris then was the place to which Dirichlet looked as the
proper field for his studies, and his parents, who had some few
good friends at Paris, dating from £ the French time,’ consented
to his going there. In May 1822 he repaired to this high
school of mathematics.

In the beginning his life there was necessarily very simple,
not even without privations, and his social intercourse very
limited, his means being but scanty. But he always looked
back upon this period, which gave him his first hearty draughts
from the well of knowledge, with most intense pleasure,
which—in remembrance at least—was even enhanced by the
privations he had to undergo with regard to food, clothing, and
lodgings. He tried to attend the lectures at the Ecole Poly-
technique in addition to those at the College de France and
the Faculte des Sciences, but was unsuccessful, because the
Prussian charge d'affaires at Paris would not undertake to
apply for permission from the French Minister without a
special authorisation from the Prussian Minister von Alten-
stein ! But how could a young student from a small Rhenish
provincial town obtain this authorisation ?

Soon, however, a great change took place in his quiet life:
General Foy, a clever, highly cultured man, leader of the oppo-
sition in the chamber of deputies, and one of its most eloquent
orators, looking back on a brilliant military career, wanted a
teacher for his children, especially in the German language
and literature. By the mediation of Larchet de Chamont, who
had served with Foy, and was a friend of Dirichlet’s parents,
Dirichlet, who at the very first interview made a favourable
impression on General Foy, obtained the appointment, with a
fairly good salary, and such arrangements as left him ample
time for the pursuit of his private studies. It is a strange
coincidence that Foy should be the third French general (we
have spoken of Sebastiani and Davoust in Henrietta’s history)
who thought German culture so desirable as to wish to secure
it for their children. In the present case the obligation was a
mutual one, for Dirichlet was lastingly and strongly influenced312

DIRICHLET.

by the example of an active, noble, and refined man like Foy,
and by his intimate acquaintance with Madame Foy, who
under his guidance took up her long-neglected German studies,
and corrected the Germanisms of his French in return. More-
over, it was very important for his whole life that General Foy’s
house, frequented by the first notabilities in art and science as
well as by the most illustrious members of the chambers, gave
him an opportunity of looking on life in a larger field, and of
hearing the great political questions discussed that led to the
July Kevolution of 1830, and created in him such vivid interest.
The following extract from a letter of Klingemann’s gives us a
charming little picture referring to the time of Dirichlet’s
residence in the general’s house. He writes to Rebecca on
March 1, 1833: ‘It is unfortunate that I do not know your
lord and husband—what is the use of year by year sending
each other the kindest messages by the best authorities (for
instance, I now beg his own wife to remember me most kindly
to him) ? Until we have met and conversed we are to each
other nothing but an idea. Not even through our works can
we form a mutual acquaintance, since I do not write any, and
his are to me incomprehensible. If you did but know what an
unbounded respect I have for mathematics in general and for
algebra in particular, from the simple reason of my absolute
ignorance, you would feel how I tremble before even you, not
to mention the professor himself! The only thing tangible
about the latter I gathered when last in Paris from Madame
Foy, who talked of him, i.e. praised him; and described him
sitting on a little stove the whole day long, teaching the
children and doing his own work at the same time.’ The idea
of an uncommonly tall thin young man sitting on a little iron
stove and studying mathematics, whenever the children’s lessons
left him time, is comically touching and truly German.

And Dirichlet did remain a German, with all his love for
France and for the splendour and charm of Paris life, which he
got acquainted with in its best form. After having achieved
a brilliant success through his first publication, which was read
aloud in the Paris Academy, received into the collection of
memorable scientific writings by foreigners, and forthwithPROFESSOR AT BRESLAU.

313

obtained him the fame of a distinguished mathematician,
he became acquainted ,with Alexander von Humboldt, who was
then living in Paris. General Foy had already mentioned
Dirichlet to him as an excellent scholar, but Humboldt had
not thought much of this praise as coming from an incom-
petent judge. Dirichlet’s first work convinced him : Humboldt
received the young man with exceeding kindness, and a friend-
ship began between the two which death alone terminated. At
their very first meeting Dirichlet mentioned to Humboldt his
intention of going back to Germany after a while, and Hum-
boldt encouraged him by the assurance that, considering the
small number of good mathematicians, he would not fail to find
a suitable place in Germany as soon as he liked. The death of
Foy, November 1825, and the influence of Humboldt, who soon
afterwards left Paris, made Dirichlet carry out his resolution
of returning to his own country. The 4 suitable place,’ however,
which Humboldt had represented as within easy reach, re-
mained out of sight. Shortly before, negotiations even with
Gauss, about an appointment at Berlin, carried on for years,
had been broken off for the want of a few hundred thalers. It
was not to be supposed that they who for such a trifle had failed
to secure to themselves the highest mathematical celebrity
would make particularly brilliaht offers to a young man not
yet twenty-one. The untiring exertions and great influence
of a man like Humboldt, who induced the most distinguished
members of the Academy to promote Dirichlet’s interests,
and the energetic intercession of Gauss, were needed to obtain
for Dirichlet a salary of 400 thalers (601.) to enter upon
the career of a professor at the University of Breslau. But
Dirichlet, whose wants, to the end of his life, were easily
satisfied, accepted the offer, hoping that his own knowledge
and Humboldt’s friendship would in the course of time succeed
in procuring him a proper situation. He was not comfortable
at Breslau, where a great many obsolete notions appear to have
Drevailed in the university customs at that time—several
professors, for instance, were quite shocked at his being excused
the public Latin disputation. The students could not accustom
themselves to his way of teaching; and he would not conde-3*4

DIRICHLET.

scend to join the many coteries of the place. Thus it came to
pass that during the three terms of his residence at Breslau he
never gained that local or provincial celebrity which is more
efficacious in narrow circles than the universal acknowledgment
of the first men of science. The latter he found in a rich
measure. Bessel wrote to Humboldt about a treatise Dirichlet
published at that time : £ Who would have believed that any
genius could succeed in reducing such apparent difficulties to
such simple results! If signed “ Lagrange,” nobody would ques-
tion the authenticity of it!’ And Fourier entreated Dirichlet,
and tried to avail himself of Larchet de Chamont’s influence, to
induce him to return to Paris, where he felt sure it was his
vocation to occupy a high position at the Academy.

Dirichlet, however, preferred a sphere of action, however
modest, in his own country. About that time the post of a
teacher of mathematics at the Berlin Military Academy was
vacant, and Humboldt took the opportunity of recommending
Dirichlet. But both General Badowitz and the minister of
war hesitated to give him the appointment definitely, on the
ground that he was too young to be made a teacher of officers.
At the same time he was deemed old enough to exercise the
office ad interim, and so, Altenstein giving him one year’s
provisional leave, he commenced the instruction at the military
school in autumn 1828, and continued there till 1855, when he
left Berlin for Gottingen. During the first few years the
intercourse with the officers, young men of his own age, was
very pleasant; hut later on, when there were at the university
a great number of students able and desirous to follow him with
true scientific interest into the higher regions of mathematics,
bis position with the military students, who attended his lectures
only from compulsion and only rarely showed any love and
understanding of the subject, became very oppressive. Thus the
military academy, which first brought him to Berlin, twenty-
seven years afterwards was the cause of his leaving it.

Soon after his arrival at Berlin he underwent the formali-
ties necessary for being allowed to teach at the university; for,
although he was a professor at Breslau, yet a title obtained at
another university did not in itself confer on him the veniaBETROTHAL TO REBECCA.

315

docendi at the Berlin university, and it was not till 1831 that
he was definitively appointed professor extraordinary there.
It is strange that Humboldt, whose influence on Dirichlet’s
outward position in life is so manifest, had indirectly, also in
another way, a hand in shaping his destiny, by introducing him
to the Mendelssohns.

Dirichlet from the very beginning admired Rebecca, and she
was not insensible to his attentions ; but for some time he met
with resistance from her parents, who perhaps preferred other
suitors for Rebecca’s hand, and were not sufficiently convinced
of the earnestness and stability of his love.

In the course of time, however, and especially owing to the
endeavours of Fanny and Hensel, they were made to alter
their sentiments. The engagement took place on the 5th of
November 1831, and the wedding in May 1832. The Dirichlets
also settled under the parental roof, and thus Abraham and Leah
had the happiness of at least keeping their daughters near
them. On July 2, 1833, the first child, Walter, was born to the
young couple.

The year 1834 brought fresh changes. Paul came home
from England, and early in the year entered the counting-house
of the old-established firm Mendelssohn and Co., then repre-
sented by Joseph Mendelssohn and his son Alexander. He
subsequently became a partner in the business, and married
Albertine Heine, who had for some time belonged to the friends
of the family.

Felix spent the month of September 1834 at Berlin. The
relations between him and his father became more and more
intimate, and on Felix’s part bordered on adoration—a feeling
very natural in him, and well deserved by Abraham. Increasing
years had softened his originally somewhat hard and severe
nature, and made it more gentle and harmonious, but at the
same time a sad token of declining age began to show itself.
Even during his journey to England his short-sightedness
had proved a great drawback to him; and the complaint
rapidly developed to cataract, so that at last he had only
just a glimmer of light. He bore his misfortune with wonder-
ful equanimity and resignation, and manifested the deepest3i6

DIRICHLET.

gratitude to his daughters, who by turns read and wrote for
him. In 1835 an operation was contemplated. With his
children he stood more and more on the footing of an ex-
perienced friend, and to Felix especially he was the loving but
uncompromising adviser at every step in life.THE YEAR 1835.

The musical festival took place at Cologne, this spring, under
Felix’s direction, and was attended by both parents, the
Dirichlets, and the Hensels. After a very pleasant and suc-
cessful festival, Felix accompanied his parents to Berlin, where
Leah writes to Rebecca, who had gone on to Ostend:—

‘ Une douce sympathie regne entre nous, chere enfant! ’
We left Cologne on the 1st, and arrived here on the 8th. That
Leah was well taken care of in Abraham’s bosom you will, I
dare say, have learnt through Felix, who has written to you
from all the places we passed, with true brotherly affection.
But his modesty prevents his telling you that he is a model
sick-nurse, real to all intents and purposes, and ideal through
his charming, watchful affection. He did not in the most
literal sense of the word allow my foot to tread on hard ground,
which considering the number of stairs and doorsteps was a
difficult task. c He has a talent for everything,’ said R. once
on a different occasion. Indeed he took rather too much care
of me, and kept me somewhat like one of Passalaqua’s mum-
mies.1 Laughing and joking was all he gave me leave for, and
that we had plenty of. Every other excitement was carefully
avoided, and even Hercules on Wilhelmshdhe was forbidden as
too dangerous an individual; though I am sure that to throw
myself into his arms would have done me less harm than the
constant longing for it. As we approached Cassel, we saw the
great figure within half a mile, and in the evening Marie asked
me, ‘Is Hercules a very eminent man ? ’ I liked that so much
that I could not answer for laughing.

1 Passalaqua was then director of the Egyptian collection at the Berlin
Museum.3i8

THE YEAR 1835.

I advise you to let your mine profit by the excellent oppor-
tunities she has for learning the noble art of cooking scientifi-
cally on such a large scale and in such various styles as on the
Rhine. In travelling towards our poor country we must leave
behind us some sweet habit or other, some noble comfort or
other, one by one, as we approach the end of our journey. 0
Albert the Bear, they ought to have called you Albert the
Ass!

I trust that our absurd rebellion of August 3rd and 4th,
exaggerated by Belgian lies, may not have affected you any
more than it did us. The following bit of street-boy poetry
is its best result:—

Heil Dir im Siegerkranz,

Heut’ bleibfc keene Scheibe janz.1 *

But unhappily much innocent blood has been shed, for
although the Staatszeitung stated correctly that the soldiers
who were hit by stones did not use their firearms, they never-
theless—though the fact was passed over in silence, were not
sparing in the use of other arms. Diefifenbach told us that he
alone had to dress the wounds of three people in a dangerous
state. How many wounded there were altogether, and if there
were any killed, is not officially known at all, according to the
fine principle of our government not to publish anything of that
kind, and therefore to give all the more scope for exaggerated
gossip. They say that somebody proposed to the king the Paris
plan of dispersing the mob by the fire-engines, and that he an-
swered in his own laconic way, 6 Sure to be in bad condition,’
which I think very amusing.

When we were at a distance of two days from Berlin, I
begged Felix to i preserve ’ at least some of his good spirits for
Berlin, and I perceive that he is trying hard to do it, but with-
out perfect success, and I do not say too much when I maintain
that even his physiognomy is changed, and he does not look so
handsome and lively as he did on the Rhine. Both Schadow
and Hildebrand say that to paint his portrait is so difficult, on

1 Hail to tbee in victory’s crown,

Break all the glass in town.THE HENSELS IN PARIS.

319

account of his ever-varying expression ; and they would agree
with me now. However, he takes all the pains he can, and
every additional day he remains is noted down in my grateful
heart. A good thing that he is working at his 4 St. Paul ’ so
eagerly. He is copying the first part, and making many
alterations as he goes over it: you know he always does, when
he goes through his compositions a second time. One day he
played to us splendidly on the old broken-winded Broadwood,
from which he still found it possible to draw melody, sound,
sweetness, and power. I believe it was in honour of Louis
Heidemann, who plays so well himself: you know how two listen-
ing ears can inspire him. That I appreciate him is not new to
you. God bless him! He has not yet fixed the day of his
departure, and for that I thank him too. When one takes to
counting the hours, they seem to fly still more rapidly, and
every minute reproaches you for not having still more carefully
laid hold of it.

The Hensels went to Paris after the Cologne festival, and
Fanny’s opinions on French painters and paintings may be
gathered from the following letter to her father :—

July 10, 1835.—Dear father, you appear to be a little afraid
that Hensel may not do justice to Paris, but I think his
intention of doing so is sufficiently proved by his very decision
to undertake the journey. Surely, it would be stupid to spend
so much money, time, and strength merely to be able to say
afterwards, 4 Ce n’est que cela ? ’ He sees and hears with the
greatest impartiality, and, as always, with the desire to learn.
It stands to reason that he cannot praise everything, and I even
believe we shall quarrel about some few points. But upon the
whole you could be pleased with his way of employing his time.
You know that after his last attack he may not run about as
much as he did at first, and I am afraid that we must leave a
good many interesting things unseen or half seen, as our time
and means do not allow us to stay beyond a month. To live
here I cannot, from what information we gather from the artists
themselves, think desirable, for, though the orders they receive
be sometimes enormous, the amount of intrigue, impediment,320

THE YEAR 1835.

and meanness they have to encounter is equally enormous, and
it is quite mortifying to see how reputations are trodden down
by the same public that has created them. Within the fort-
night we have now spent here we have witnessed two striking
instances. Everybody agrees that it is by such treatment that
Gros was brought so far as to throw himself into the Seine;
and Delaroche is in such a state of despair at the perfidious
way in which they have retracted an order he had already
received to decorate a church with frescoes, that I should not
be astonished if he went the same way. However, to go to
Paris some day for a twelvemonth, paint a picture here, and
make a real study of the Musee, Hensel would like very much.
All the artists who have seen his things advise him to send a
picture to the exhibition, if possible the large one: but they
all agree that he must come himself as a safeguard to his
work, which might otherwise experience ill-treatment. They
quote Delaroche as a precedent: whilst he was making the
preparatory studies for his church in Italy, they withdrew the
commission from him, and this disgraceful act could not even
be prevented by Yernet (Delaroclie’s father-in-law), though he
was on the spot. Friends are of no use, they say, you must he
present in person, and with such difficulties the thing is of
course impossible. The one thing I really envy the artists here
is the splendid way in which they see their paintings published.
There is Calamatta, who works almost exclusively after Ingres ;
and how beautifully Delaroche’s things are engraved !

The Hensels could not fail to form very interesting ac-
quaintances—with Delaroche and Vernet, for instance. Fanny
describes the dress of the latter when working in his studio—like
that of a dancing-master, shoes, white trousers, jacket, and a
red scarf round his waist. Five years later this clever eccentric
man went about the streets of Eome in an oriental costume,
dagger and pistols in his belt, exactly like a Turk, as
Hensel has, during half an hour’s sitting, made a sketch of
him. Fanny took a lively interest in Gerard, who had wit-
nessed the whole period of revolution and empire, and possessed
portraits—by his own hand—of the most eminent persons ofDISASTERS AT BOULOGNE.

321

that time. Fanny mentions those of Talma, Mdlle. Mars,
Napoleon in his youth, Humboldt, Canova.

Towards the end of their visit a fearful event happened,
which contributed to give a sad colouring to their whole re-
membrance of Paris—the Fieschi Attempt.

Under the impression of this occurrence the Hensels left
Paris. Travelling disasters, however, pursued them still further.
They went to Boulogne, where Fanny was to take sea-baths,
but found the place overcrowded, especially with English
people, so that several days passed in looking for lodgings.
The rooms they found at last proved to be in such a dilapidated
condition that after they had occupied them for a few days a
shower of rain brought down the ceiling, and a stream of water
rushed through the roof into the room. Then, owing to bad
postal arrangements, Berlin letters were delayed as much as
a fortnight, and to complete the sum of calamities Fanny was
seized with a violent inflammation of the eyes, which for-
bade all occupation and the enjoyment of open air. Such a
fashionable sea-side place, fashionable especially for the English,
was moreover exorbitantly expensive, which added to the dis-
advantageous light shed over the whole. The result of it all
was that Fanny ever after regarded Boulogne with profound
dislike. Pleasant society was the only redeeming point:
among them Heinrich Heine, who had here his well-known
adventure with some English ladies, who had fixed upon the
reading-room for the purpose of carrying on a very loud con-
versation, and were driven away by Heine’s saying: 4 Ladies, if
my reading disturbs your talking, I can go somewhere else.’
Then there was Mrs. Austin, the English authoress, a very
amiable lady. Lastly Klingemann, came over for three days
from London, and spent a delightful time with them. He then
made Wilhelm Hensel’s acquaintance for the first time.

About the journey home Fanny writes to Klingemann :—

Berlin : October 17, 1835.

We have to thank you for the only three agreeable days we
passed at Boulogne, for I know not what kind spirit moved our
tormentor of a landlord to leave us unmolested for just those

VOL. 1.	Y322

THE YEAR 1835.

few days, so that we could at least enjoy the pleasure of your
visit without reserve. Afcer you had gone on board, on that
glorious blue day, we stood a long time following the steamer
with our eyes, and watching its straightly rising column of
smoke, the good promise of which being fulfilled, with passengers
and poodle safely landed on the other side, was a welcome piece
of news for us on the eve of our leaving Boulogne—well, you
had only just left us when our troubles began again. We parted
in mutual discontent, and the weather was such that Boulogne
alone could produce the like of it, and then only in our honour.
In storm and torrents of rain the inhospitable place saw us
depart, but in Calais the weather had so far improved that we
could visit the port and convince ourselves that it is not worth
seeing—a thing which nobody will ever believe. We passed
the night at Dunkirk, and again visited the port the next morn-
ing. My happening to come to Dunkirk gave me a strange
feeling, for the name had always, ever since the time of my
geography lessons, appeared to me particularly foreign and far
away, somewhat like a sort of East Indian place, quite outside
the possible reach of any Berlin soul, and now I had actually
been there and spent a night at Dunkirk in an excellent hotel.
From there to the next station, which is in Belgium, you drive
for several leagues over the wet sands on a natural road of shells.
A singularly charming drive it was, for hours together nothing
but the sea to the left and the downs to the right. By mistake
we got to Ostend, where we came too late for my sister, but had
a last magnificent look of the sea at full tide. In the afternoon
we reached Bruges, and spent the few last hours of the day and
the few first of the next day in inspecting this wonderful old
town. I do not know whether you are acquainted with Belgium,
and am afraid that I am telling you things you know ten times
better than I; but never mind, when the heart is full the lip, or
rather the pen, overflows, and I cannot deny that my heart is still
full of Belgium. When in Bruges you pass through the well-
preserved clean streets of the fifteenth century to the hospital
where Hemelink lay ill, and where after his recovery he painted
that beautiful pious picture; when you see, kneeling in their
golden frames, the graceful sisters of charity, and then the sameBELGIUM.

323

living faces at prayers in their church or busy about the house ;
when you see the same Roman Catholic people, in the same old
costume, the same grave black cloaks, walking- to the same
venerable, splendid churches, an involuntary deception comes
over your mind and senses. You feel inclined to ask the first
person you pass in the street which is the house of noble Master
Hemelink, or that of the Brothers Eyk, and, if he went on with-
out answering, you would only think that he understood no
German, and you no Flemish.

The following day we proceeded to Ghent, where we spent
the remaining hours of daylight in sight-seeing, through rain and
dirt so terrible that precaution appeared vain and I quite gave
up picking my way. When we came home we had to hang up
all our things to dry. Ghent has quite a different character from
Bruges, much more of the sixteenth century, whilst Antwerp rather
represents the seventeenth. I am sorry to say they are renovat-
ing a good deal at Ghent, and a great many of the splendid
quaint old buildings are being replaced by uninteresting new
ones. Enough, however, of what is beautiful remains to supply
ten towns like Berlin (do not tell anybody). The many quays,
the numberless bridges, the curious water-contrivances, the
beautiful old churches, the greater part of the celebrated Altar-
piece of Eyk, of which we possess the smaller fragment—all
this makes Ghent in its way no less interesting than Bruges is
in another way. We now went on to Antwerp, for us the cul-
mination-point, at any rate of our journey homewards: a truly
regal town. I have never seen Hensel so transported as he was
in the cathedral, which contains Rubens’s greatest painting, the
Descent from the Cross. I assure you, if it had been possible
we might easily have decided to stop at Antwerp. There only
can Rubens be thoroughly made acquaintance with, and several
churches and museums contain masterpieces of his, of which
one can form an idea nowhere else. The streets and the docks
also are incomparably grand.

In Brussels we led a more social life, as we found several
friends who took a great pleasure in paying debts of hospitality.
At the same time, we saw all that could be seen in two days.
We also passed through Louvain, where we saw the famous town-324

THE YEAR 1835.

hall and a very remarkable private collection, and stopped just
long enough to say good-bye to the cathedral and all this mag-
nificence of art. We hastened to Bonn, where we met the
Dirichlets and looked forward to some days of rest, for we felt
exhausted after our week of delightful travelling; I, for my
part, especially from that state of constant admiration which is
extremely pleasant, but also extremely fatiguing.

The morning of the 19 th at Bonn was spent in pleasant talk
and making plans for a comfortable journey home with the
Dirichlets, which was to compensate for all the drawbacks they
had encountered, when a letter arrived from Berlin urgently
desiring Hensel’s speedy return, as his mother was seriously ill.
The Hensels started at once, and travelling by way of Leipzig,
where they met Felix, then settled there, leached Berlin on the
27th of September. Hensel found his mother still alive, but
on the 4th of October she died. Her death had been expected
for some time, and might be considered as a blessed release for
so aged a woman. But it proved the precursor of another
sudden and unexpected blow to the whole family.

We left Felix in the autumn of 1833, when he definitely
entered upon his office at Diisseldorf, and just now we have
seen that in the autumn of 1835 he went thence to Leipzig.
These two years formed a period of his life rich both in work and
in great enjoyment. Everything his father had anticipated of
his position in Diisseldorf became realised to the fullest extent—
nay, it was even surpassed. His duties were threefold. In the
first place he had to superintend all the musical affairs and
interests of the town, which were partly in a process of forma-
tion, partly in a state of chaotic and obsolete confusion. Closely
connected with this was the direction of the music for the church
solemnities of the almost entirely Catholic town. In the very
beginning there happened an episode, mentioned in Felix’s
letters,1 with the former conductor of this church-music.

c A very crabbed old musician in a threadbare coat was
summoned. When he came and they attacked him he declared
that he neither could nor would have better music; if any

1 Letter to Rebecca of October 26, 1833, Lacly Wallace’s translation.FELIX AT DUSSELDORF.

325

improvement was required, some one else must be employed;
that he knew perfectly what vast pretensions some people made
nowadays, everything was expected to sound so beautiful—this
had not been the case in his day, and he played just as well
now as formerly. I was really very reluctant to take the affair
out of his hands, though there could be no doubt that others
would do infinitely better ; and I could not help thinking how
I should myself feel were I to be summoned some fifty years
hence to a town-hall, and spoken to in this strain, and a young
greenhorn snubbed me, and my coat were seedy, and I had not
the most remote idea why the music should be better; and I
felt rather uncomfortable.’

But now good music had first to be procured, so that the
better set of musicians might have something proper to perform.
Felix therefore, as he expressed himself, 4 travelled through his
domains,’ that is to say, he went to Elberfeld, Bonn, and
Cologne, rummaged through the libraries, and returned with a
rich store of old Italian church-music to Diisseldorf. But the
Diisseldorf people meanwhile, for the present, felt no interest
in Misereres of Allegri and Bai, and motets of Orlando Lasso
and Pergolesi, and thought of nothing but the. Crown Prince
of Prussia, afterwards Frederic William IV., who was passing
through Diisseldorf. Triumphal arches, the pealing of bells, the
firing of cannon, and a dinner were the inevitable results.
Diisseldorf wanted also to give a fete in his honour, and Felix
suggested as a leading idea, in remembrance of the musical fes-
tival of last spring, 4 Israel in Egypt,’ with tableaux vivants,
arranged by Bendemann and Hiibner. The choruses were still
fresh in remembrance, and the preparations therefore compara-
tively simple and demanding little time. The fete is minutely
described in Felix’s letters. After this interruption serious work
wa? resumed. The church-music took quite a new aspect.
Felix even appears to have taken such an interest in this essen-
tially catholic branch of music (he was quite convinced that real
church-music, i.e. music forming an integral part of the service,
was impossible in Protestantism), that for a moment he was half
inclined to write a mass, which, 4 whatever it might turn out,
would at all events be the only mass written with a constant326

THE YEAR 1835.

remembrance of its sacred purpose,’ and which every one must
regret he did not write.

Another very different object claimed a great part of his
time. The artistic interest then prevalent at Diisseldorf had,
under the influence of Immermann, created a strong desire for
the foundation of a theatre. Immermann entertained the same
hope which Lessing had formerly nourished at Hamburg, and
which brought the same bitter disappointment to both—the hope
of permanently founding a truly noble classical theatre. In the
present case the beginning was highly promising, and indeed
more hopeful soil and ground could hardly have been found for
such an undertaking than at Diisseldorf in 1834. The many
artistic elements, the young painters, the bright character of
the whole people, the good-fellowship prevailing among them
all, which made the artists paint decorations for Immermann and
Immermann glorify their festivals by his poetry, and lastly the
enterprise, headed by a tough, resolute, despotic individuality
like Immermann’s, such as is essentially required for the manage-
ment of such an institute, all this augured much good. Immer-
mann thought he had found the proper helpmate for his work
in Felix, and Felix was quite ready to join him and to take upon
himself the direction of the opera, whilst Immermann super-
intended the drama. They had formed an especial union for the
purpose of producing a number of so-called ‘ classical represen-
tations,’ the first of which was to be ‘ Don Juan.’ The Diissel-
dorf opposition—and according to human nature opposition
there will be to the best undertakings—took offence at the name
of c classical representations,’ in which they saw arrogance, and
at a rise in the prices of admission, so that a dreadful tumult
arose, which Felix describes in the following letter to his
father.1

The people in Diisseldorf are an excitable race. The ‘ Don
Juan ’ affair amused me, although riotous enough, and Immer-
mann had a sharp attack of fever from sheer vexation. As you,
dear mother, like to read newspapers, you shall receive in my
next letter all the printed articles on the subject, which

1 Felix’s letter, December 28, 1833, Lady Wallace’s translation.DUSSELDORF.

327

engrossed the attention of the whole town for three long days.
After the e grand scandal ’ had fairly begun, and the curtain
had been three times dropped and drawn up again, after the
first duet of the second act had been sung, entirely drowned by
whistling, shouting, and howling, after a newspaper had been
flung to the manager on the stage that he might read it aloud,
who on this went off in a violent huff, the curtain being dropped
for the fourth time—I was about to lay down my baton, though
I would far rather have thrown it at the head of some of these
fellows, when the uproar suddenly subsided. The rioters were
hoarse, and the well-conducted people brightened up; in short,
the second act was played in the midst of the most profound
silence, and much applause at the close. After it was over
all the actors were called for, but no one came, and Immer-
manu and I consulted together in a shower of fiery rain and
gunpowder smoke—among the black demons—as to what was
to be done. I declared that until the company and I had
received some apology I would not again conduct the opera;
then came a deputation of several members of the orchestra,
who in turn said that if I did not conduct they would not play ;
then the manager of the theatre began to lament, as he had
already disposed of all the tickets for the next performance.
Immermann snubbed everybody all round, and in this graceful
manner we retreated from the field.

Next day in every corner appeared, ‘ Owing to obstacles that
had arisen,’ etc., and all the people whom we met in the streets
could talk of nothing but this disturbance. The newspapers
were filled with articles on the subject; the instigator of the
riot j ustified himself, and declared that in spite of it all he had
had great enjoyment, for which he felt grateful to me, and to
the company, and he gave his name. As he is a government
secretary, the president summoned him, blew him up tremen-
dously, and sent him to the director, who also blew him up
tremendously. The soldiers who had taken part in the tumult
were treated in the same manner by the officers. The Asso-
ciation for the Promotion of Music issued a manifesto, begging
for a repetition of the opera and denouncing the disturbance.
The theatrical committee intimated that if the slightest inter-328

THE YEAR 1835.

ruption of the performance ever again occurred, they would
instantly dissolve. I procured also from the committee full
powers to stop the music in case of any unseemly noise. Last
Monday it was to be given again ; in the morning it was univer-
sally reported that the manager was to he hissed on account of
his recent testiness ; Immermann was seized with fever, and
I do assure you that is was with feelings the reverse of pleasant
that I took my place in the orchestra at the beginning, being
resolved to stop the performance if there was the slightest
disorder. But the moment I advanced to my desk the audience
received me with loud applause, called for a flourish of trumpets
in my honour, and insisted on encoring it three times amid a
precious row ; then all were as still as mice, while each actor
received his share of applause; in short, the public were now
as polite as they formerly were unruly. I wish you had seen the
performance : individual parts could not, I feel sure, have been
better given ; the quartet, for instance, and the ghost in the last
finale, and almost all of Leporello’s part, went splendidly, and
caused me the greatest pleasure. I am so glad to hear that the
singers, who I am told were prejudiced against me personally at
first, as well as against these classical performances, now say they
would go to the death for me, and are all impatience for the time
when I am to give another opera.

The ‘ classical performances ’ were thus fairly launched. ‘ Don
Juan ’ was followed by 4 Egmont,’ with Beethoven’s music. But
the greatest success was the ‘Wassertrager’ (Deuxjournees). It
had for long years completely disappeared from the stage. The
public thought it a strange whim of the committee to wish to
warm up such an antiquated thing, and all the singers appre-
hended a repetition of the ‘ Don Juan ’ scandal.

‘ This, however,’ Felix writes,1 ‘ gave exactly the right tone;
such tremor, excitement, and emotion pervaded the whole that
at the second number the Diisseldorf opposition kindled into
enthusiasm, and applauded and shouted and wept by turns. A
better Wassertrager than Gunther I never saw; he was most
touching and natural, and yet with a shade of homeliness too,

1 Letter to his father, March 28, 1834, Lady Wallace’s translation.FELIX AND IMMERMANN.

339

so that the noblesse might not appear too factitious. He was
immensely applauded, and twice called forward. This rather
spoiled him for the second performance, when he overacted his
part, and was too confident. But I wish you could have seen
him the first time ! It is long since I have had such a delightful
evening in the theatre, for I took part in the performance like
one of the spectators, and laughed, and applauded, and shouted
‘ bravo ! ’ conducting carefully all the time; the choruses in the
second act went like pistol-shooting. The stage was crowded
between the acts, every one pleased, and congratulating the
singers. The orchestra played with precision, except a few un-
skilful shots, when, in spite of all my threats and warnings, I
could not prevail on them to take their eyes off the stage and
look at their notes.’

We insert this extract chiefly for the purpose of showing
why harmony between Felix and Immermann could not long con-
tinue. The two looked on the matter from too entirely different
a point of view. Felix was amused at the ‘Don Juan’ affair,
which gave Immermann a violent fever from vexation and
took pleasure in the performances which Immermann regarded
as the most anxious matter in the world. Felix writes to his
father: 6 A good performance in the Diisseldorf theatre does not
indeed find its way into the world at large, perhaps not beyond
the Diissel, but when I succeed in thoroughly cheering and en-
livening by the good music both myself and all the audience, that
is worth something too.’ Immermann was ready to sacrifice
his whole career and devote all his powers to this undertaking,
which Felix only treated as an accessory occupation. In a word,
the Diisseldorf theatre was to Immermann a heartfelt concern
of the most vital and essential nature, whilst Felix’s vital interest
lay elsewhere, in his own compositions.

Great pleasure as he received from performances like that
of the ‘ Wassertrager,’ he very soon began to feel a dislike to
some portion of the theatrical affairs, the stage-gossip, the
hunting for and producing of effect, the newspapers ’ backbiting,
and above all the exorbitant claims on his time, which kept
him away ‘ from his real purpose, his own work.’ Consequently
at a meeting of the theatrical association, which took place33°

THE YEAR 1835.

soon after the performance of the 4 Wassertrager,’ he resigned
some part of his office, reserving for himself the chief superin-
tendence of the musical affairs, arrangement of the orchestra,
engagement of the singers, and the performance of an opera
once a month. He also resigned his salary, for which a second
conductor was now appointed. He wanted to occupy a totally
independent position with regard to the theatre, and to be
considered only as a friend of the cause. Such a position,
however, is not tenable for a permanency, the less so with a
conscientious character like that of Felix, who could not allow
himself to treat the matter with any negligence and let things
take their course, but who, as long as he had a part in it, took
care of the part with unremitting faith and earnest zeal, until
the whole matter became to him literally intolerable. This
moment arrived when, in autumn 1834, the new contracts and
engagements had to be concluded and negotiated. That little
incident with the old church-musician shows that Felix was
full of kind and delicate feeling: a nature like his was not
fit for bickering and haggling with the rabble in the train
of a theatre, a provincial theatre especially. He has him-
self given us a vivid description of 4 the sufferings of a
Diisseldorf Intendant ’ in a letter to Rebecca.1

The thing most to be regretted was that his relations
to Immermann, from being extremely friendly, grew more
and more cool, and at last almost hostile. The antagonism
of the two characters manifested itself too strongly on this
question, and Immermann, hindered by Felix in his ideal
pursuit, looked on him as an apostate from the righteous
cause of a national theatre. If to the various duties of his
office, the many concerts and performances in the singing-
association, in church, and in the theatre, we add the concerts
given in other places (a lively and interesting letter treats of
one such professional tour to Elberfield and Barmen), the
musical festival at Aix-la-Chapelle, 1834, which indeed he
attended only as a listener, and where he met Hiller and
Chopin from Paris,2 and the Cologne festival of 1835—if we sum

1	The letter of November 23, 1834.

2	They had intimated to him to propose himself as a conductor, to do which
went against his principles.‘ST. PAUL

331

up all this, which happened in the space of two years, it appears
truly astonishing that he should have looked upon it all in the
light of mere subordinate matter, which he did not allow to
retard his wonderful activity as a composer. From this period
date the rondo in E flat (Op. 29), and the capriccio in A minor
for piano solo (Op. 33, No. 1), the capriccio in E major and a
fugue in A flat (Op. 35, No. 4), many songs, with and without
words, among them 4 Auf Fliigeln des Gresanges,’ and the over-
ture to 4 The Lovely Melusine.’

All this various music and extensive work was in some re-
spects only a preparatory study for the greatest work that Felix
had hitherto undertaken, the composition of which is also com-
prised in the Diisseldorf period, namely, the oratorio of 4 St.
Paul.’ To this work Felix, whose active disposition needed no
spur, was constantly urged and driven by his father, as if with
a presentiment both of the high place among composers to which
this work would raise his son, and of his own death before it was
possible for him to hear it performed. This oratorio was thus
to Felix an affair of heart and conscience, compared to which
everything else appeared to him of secondary importance. We
know through his published letters how seriously he weighed
and considered every part of it, how thoroughly he discussed
the text, in all its bearings, with his friends Schubring and
Bauer; how in this also his father, in that beautiful letter of
March 10, 1835, gives him the best advice; how Felix towards
the completion of the oratorio longs for the opinion of his sister
Fanny, because to her he could look for a competent criticism
(since 4 the Diisseldorf friends being very enthusiastic about it
does not prove much ’). During all the engagements of his busy
and varied life, the great work steadily advanced towards its
accomplishment. At the time of their visit at Cologne for the
musical festival the family got acquainted with such portions of
the composition as were then finished, and they were as enthu-
siastic about it as the Diisseldorf friends. Abraham was quite
satisfied, and then Felix considered his work to have passed the
ordeal of an impartial and incorruptible criticism, and confi-
dently looked forward to its general success. What a pleasure
it would have been for the father if the oratorio could have been332

THE YEAR 1835.

produced at the festival of 1835, so that he might have wit-
nessed his son’s triumph! The words Felix wrote with his
invitation to the Cologne festival, where none of his music was
performed, would then have had even a more pregnant mean-
ing:1 4 You must be well aware that your presence at the
festival would not only be no gene to me, but on the contrary
would cause me first to feel true joy and delight in my success.
Allow me to take this opportunity to say to you that the ap-
probation and enjoyment of the public, of which I am certainly
very sensible, only really pleases me when I can write to tell you
of it, because I know it rejoices you, and one word of praise
from you is more truly precious to me and makes me happier
than all the publics in the world applauding me in concert;
and thus to see you among the audience would be the dearest of
all rewards to me for my labours.’

The letter ends: 4 My oratorio is to be performed in Frank-
fort in November, so Schelble writes to me ; and much as I
wish you to hear it soon, still I should prefer your hearing it
first next year, at the festival. Before decidedly accepting the
proposal, I have stipulated to wait till after the performance
at Frankfort, that I may judge whether it be suitable for the
festival; should this prove to be the case, as I hope and wish it
may, it will have a much finer effect there; besides which, it is
the festival that you like, and Whit Sunday instead of November;
and above all I shall then know whether it pleases you or not,
on which point I feel by no means sure.’

When the festival took place and 4 St. Paul ’ was performed,
Felix saw his father no more amongst the audience : he had then
already suffered the first great grief of his life.

The difficulties with the theatre, which we have already
described, and especially the estrangement from Immermann,
gradually made Felix’s life in Diisseldorf less pleasant than it
was at first. The elementary condition of the musical institutes
proved a great drawback. All good result was based on the
unanimous co-operation of a number of people who, although
giving their share spontaneously, had very different views as
long as perfect concord and unanimity are preserved. But
1 Letter to his father, April 3, 1835, Lady Wallace’s translation.LEIPZIG.

333

alarming schisms began to manifest themselves; the harmony
which is less easy to maintain in a provincial town than in a
large community disappeared. And about that very time—no
more favourable moment could have been imagined for making
Felix accept—he received the offer of another position, the
directorship of the Grewandhaus-concerts at Leipzig. And pro-
pitious as was the moment, the office itself was one which could
not have been more acceptable.

Its advantages were similar to those at Diisseldorf, the place
not being a government appointment subordinate to any official
authority, but a free association, formed for the purpose of pro-
moting good music, and desirous of engaging a director able to
use the best means towards the realisation of that purpose.
Leipzig too was a middle-sized German town, and the life there
suited Felix very well. The bright, animated, intellectual, and
social intercourse which in Diisseldorf was produced by the paint-
ing academy, was supplied at Leipzig by the great industry of the
commercial town, above all by the book-trade and the university.
And Leipzig had great advantages of its own. The Grewandhaus-
concerts had existed for fifty-six years, and were thus a long-
consolidated establishment. Such union may produce remark-
able results, far superior to anything at Diisseldorf, where many
things of musical importance were still in their very first period
of development. Regular businesslike rules and forms were in
existence, each had his own sharply defined department, conflicts
about competency could not occur; and Felix, to whom the
vague, wavering state of affairs in Diisseldorf had been a real
infliction, felt most agreeably impressed with the difference in
that respect which he met with at Leipzig.

The memory, too, of Sebastian Bach, and the fact of his hav-
ing been Cantor at the Tbomas-Kirche at Leipzig, had a peculiar
charm for Felix, who was wrapt up in Bach, and had done so much
for that master in reviving his St. Matthew’s Passion-music.

In addition to all this, the much shorter distance between
Leipzig and Berlin at that time, when railroads did not exist,
exercised much weight in favour of Leipzig. He therefore met
the very first negotiations about it with manifest readiness, and
only begged for an explanation with regard to some few points,334

THE YEAR 1835.

especially tlie question whether in accepting the post he was
not supplanting anybody else, in which case he must absolutely
decline. All his doubts being satisfactorily removed, he entered
upon his office as Kapellmeister of the Gewandhaus-concerts in
autumn 1835, and soon afterwards (November 13, 1833) wrote
to Fanny: cDr. Reiter arrived here charmed with the kind
reception you gave him ; he is in a real enthusiasm about father.
On the other hand, I cannot deny that Mr. L.’s greatest ecstasy
was created by Walter ; then followed Sebastian, and only then
your piano-playing. He said you ought to he a travelling
artist, and would kill every one else by your playing. I said
“ Pourquoi ? ” for I was very cold, we were standing on the stair-
case of the concert-hall as we talked, and he could not get done
with his account of your charming qualities.

£ A. is here with M. If I said he had made a favourable
impression on me, I should not speak the truth. He is the type
of a speculating, grasping musician, with no other conversation
but money-affairs, money-plans, money-losses—not his own
money even: M., whom he took up five years ago, and who from
top to toe is now nothing more but a music speculation, earns it
for him. Whether a good speculation or not I do not care; I
am sick of it. My interest in her would begin if she would set
up a good quarrel with A. about the money, or if she ran away
from him, but the present state of things is too wretched. Her
singing, however, is said to be excellent, and she holds me in
high esteem—but that goes for nothing.

‘ Fancy, dear Fanny, in Wieck’s concert the other day I
listened for the first time to my B minor capriccio (Clara
played it like a witch), and I liked it very well. I am sure I
had thought it quite a stupid thing, since you and Marx abused
it so, but it has really a bright sound with the orchestra, and
seems good enough by way of a concert-thing. I believe it is
prettier than the one in E flat, hut I believe that you believe
the contrary.’

The Dirichlets, who during the Hensels’ ill-adventured
French journey had enjoyed a very pleasant tour through
Belgium to Ostend, on their return to Berlin, on October 14,
brought Felix with them for a few days, and Moscheles, thenFELIX AND MOSCHELES.

335

staying at Leipzig. Fanny always numbered these’days among
the brightest and happiest of her life. The travellers arrived
during the night, and the Hensels were roused in the morning
with the joyful news, and then they prepared a surprise to the
parents, the whole company going across the courtyard to the
front house. The grand piano followed, and at once they began
to play. The news soon reached the friends about the town, and
two days passed in the happy animated strain of old times.
Felix and Moscheles played beautifully; Abraham, who was
nearly blind, in a duet the two performed together, mistook the
one for the other, and was surprised at the rather elegant style
of Felix and the lively natural playing of Moscheles, not find-
ing out his mistake until they ended. On the second evening,
immediately before Moscheles’ departure, they extemporised
together; when the parting moment came, Felix interrupted
Moscheles by the signal of the diligence ; then Moscheles took
leave in a solemn, touching andante, was again interrupted by
the signal, after which they joined in a finale. Abraham liked
to dwell on this recollection in the following four weeks, talking
of it in his own bright, clever way. The next morning Felix
travelled back to Leipzig, promising to come again at Christmas.
Abraham said: 4 Well, humanly speaking, we may hope to be
spared till then ’—and Felix said good-bye to his father for the
last time.

One more pleasant episode followed this, the visit of Hauser,
the singer, whom Abraham liked very much and heard frequently.
Fanny arranged a very brilliant Sunday-music, which made her
father say that she had brought the thing to such a pitch that
it could hardly go on. On November 14, Fanny’s birthday was
celebrated with great glee.

It has been mentioned in the beginning of this book that
the latter days of Moses Mendelssohn were occupied by a
literary controversy about Lessing. By a singular coincidence,
something similar happened to.Abraham. Shortly before his
death, on November 15, in a conversation with Varnhagen von
Ense, Varnhagen extolled and praised a few young German
authors exorbitantly at the expense of Lessing. A violent
quarrel ensued, which terminated by Varnhagen’s leaving the336	THE YEAR 1835.

house rather excited, and without a conciliatory conclusion of
the discussion.

After Abraham’s death they found on his desk the following
unfinished letter, the original of which was claimed by Varn-
hagen. A copy of it, in Fanny Hensel’s handwriting, is among
the family documents.

November 16, 1835.

Honoured Sir and Friend,—If you consider that Lessing
during a great part of his life was my father’s most intimate
friend, deeply loved and esteemed by him; that Lessing has
written£ Nathan,’ ‘ Emilia Galotti,’4 The Education of Mankind,’
‘ Laokoon,’ the ‘ Dramaturgic ’ (to which Germany owes more
than to all the theatrical criticisms and feuilletons written since
that time, viz. the knowledge of Shakespeare); that he was incon-
testibly a profound scholar; and that almost every line of his dis-
plays the clearest understanding united to the deepest feeling—
you will kindly excuse me for speaking rather too warmly yester-
day in his defence. I cannot deny that I was surprised at finding
you, whom I have so often heard speak with the warmest admira-
tion of Lessing and his works, ‘Nathan’ especially, and the views
therein expressed—at now finding you place this man, who
thought so highly of truth as to believe that it belonged to God
alone and that he himself could only strive after it, in short this
sun in which dark spots may be seen through smoked glasses, on
a level with men who as yet have only shown spots, behind
which we are allowed to suppose a sun. I might indeed have
taken into consideration that you were merely following perhaps
a momentary mood when you thus depreciated Lessing, and
that you felt irritated by the opposition of an incompetent judge.
Several of those young men are your personal friends, and it is
generous in you to risk the utmost in order to save and raise
their reputation. From the point of view of social rules alone,
this consideration should have been my duty. . . .

On the 18th Abraham was still quite well, except a slight
cough. Early on the following morning the family were roused
by the news that he had been taken ill during the night.THE FATHER'S DEATH.

337

They thought it an attack of apoplexy, but he was in full pos-
session of his senses. The doctors, who were instantly called,
considered his case so far from dangerous that they would not
allow Felix to be written to, as it would merely cause him
unnecessary alarm, and bring him to Berlin to no purpose.
This was at ten o’clock. The patient turned round, saying he
would sleep a little—and half an hour later he was dead. So
rapidly, unexpectedly, gently, and quietly did he pass away that
none of his children, who were gathered round the bed, could
tell when death had come. It had always been his wish to die
in this manner, and his wish was granted. Fanny concludes
her description of his death with the words: ‘ So beautiful,
unchanged, and calm was his face that we could remain near
our loved one not only without a sensation of fear, but felt truly
elevated in looking at him. The whole expression was so calm,
the forehead so pure and beautiful, the position of the hands so
mild ! It was the end of the righteous, a beautiful, enviable end,
and I pray to God for a similar death, and will strive through all
my days to deserve it, as he deserved it. It was death in its
most peaceful, beautiful aspect.’

The first care of the family was for the mother and for Felix.
The former, with an excitable nervous system, prone to heart
disease, and still feeling the effects of a serious illness, was in
a state which might well create uneasiness. And then, Felix I
How were they to break the terrible news to him, totally
unprepared as he was, and clinging to his father with enthusi-
astic, almost fanatical, fondness ? How might they soften the
dreadful blow awaiting him ?

Hensel volunteered at onco to go to Leipzig, procured pass-
port and carriage, and was off at half past two o’clock. On
Saturday morning they both arrived in Berlin, Felix in an
alarming condition of nervous restraint, weeping but little, and
looking into the future with utter hopelessness. He could say
nothing, could not shed a tear, and in short gave cause for the
worst apprehensions. And indeed his loss was the greatest, if
in afflictions like the loss of that father there be comparative
degrees ; or rather he had nothing to act as a softening count.er-

VOL. I.	z338

THE YEAR 1835.

balance in this inexpressible grief. The other children being
married, and having their own domestic ties and duties, had
partners in sorrow, and necessary occupations to divert their
thoughts into other channels. Felix, unmarried, had not only
lost what was dearest to him in the world, but nothing could divert
him from the contemplation of his irreparable loss. At Leipzig
his bare bachelor-rooms awaited him; and all his occupations,
which had been the joy of his life, now appeared shallow, for his
chief pleasure in those very occupations had been his father’s
interest and sympathy. After a few days he went back to Leipzig.
The following two letters 1 to his friends Schubring and Bauer,
written soon after his return to Leipzig, show the state of his
mind:—

‘ Dear Schubring,—You have no doubt heard of the heavy
stroke that has fallen on my happy life and these dear to me. It
is the greatest misfortune that could have befallen me, and a trial
that I must either strive to bear up against or must utterly sink
under. I say this to myself after the lapse of three weeks,
without the acute anguish of the first days, but I feel it the
more deeply; a new life must begin for me, or all must be at
an end : the old life is now severed. For our consolation and
example, our mother bears her loss with the most wonderful
composure and firmness ; she comforts herself with her children
and grandchildren, and thus strives to hide the chasm that can
never be filled up. My brother and sisters do what they can
to fulfil their duties better than ever, the more difficult they
have become. I was ten days in Berlin, so that my mother
might at least have us all round her ; but I need scarcely tell
you what those days were: you know it well, and no doubt you
thought of me in that dark time. I do not know whether you
are aware that, especially for some years past, my father was so
good to me, so thoroughly my friend, that I was devoted to him
with my whole soul, and during my long absences scarcely ever
passed an hour without thinking of him ; but as you knew him
in his own home with us, in all his kindliness, you can well
realise my state of mind. The only thing that now remains is

1 December 6 and 9, 1835, Lady Wallace’s translation.THE FIRST GRIEF.

339

to do one’s duty, and this I strive to accomplish with all my
strength, for he would wish it to be so if he were still here, and
I shall never cease to endeavour to gain his approval as before,
though I can no longer enjoy it.

4 When I delayed answering your letter I little thought that
I should have to answer it thus. Let me thank you for it now,
and for all your kindness. One passage for “St. Paul’’was
excellent, “ Der Du der rechte Vater bist.” A chorus for it
came forthwith into my head, which I shall very soon write
down. I shall now work with double zeal at the completion of
“ St. Paul,” for my father urged me to it in the very last letter he
wrote to me, and he looked forward very impatiently to the
completion of my work. I feel as if I must exert all my energies
to finish it and make it as good as possible, and then think that
he takes an interest in it. When it is done, Grod will direct
what is to come next.’

To Bauer: 41 received your kind letter here on the very
day when the christening in your family was to take place, on my
return from Berlin, where I had gone in the hope of alleviating
my mother’s grief immediately after the loss of my father. So
I received the intelligence of your happiness on again crossing
the threshold of my empty room, when I felt for the first time
in my inmost being what it is to suffer the most painful and
bitter anguish. Indeed the wish which of all others every night
recurred to my mind was that I might not survive this loss,
because I so entirely clung, or rather still cling, to my father,
that I do not know how I am to pass my life; for not only have
I to deplore the loss of a father (a sorrow which of all others from
my childhood I always thought the most acute), but also that of
my best and most perfect friend for the last few years, and my
instructor in art and life.

4 It seemed to me so strange to read your letter, breathing
only joy and satisfaction, and calling on me to rejoice with you
on your future prospects, at the moment when I felt that my
past was lost and gone for ever; but I thank you for wishing
me, though so distant, to become your guest at the christening.
My name may make a graver impression now than you probably
anticipated, but I trust that impression will only be a grave340

THE YEAR 1835.

and not a painful one to you and your wife; and when in later
years you tell your child of those whom you invited to his bap-
tism, do not omit my name, but say to him that one of them too
on that day began his life afresh, though in another sense, with
new purposes and wishes, and with new prayers to God.’

END OF TIIE FIRST VOLUME.■	—-f