Letters of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy from Italy and Switzerland. Felix Mendelssohn-BartholdyЧитать онлайн книгу.
work." He invited me to return to dinner, and I played a great deal to him in the evening.
My three Welsh pieces, dedicated to three English sisters, have great success here;[2] and I am trying to rub up my English. As I had begged Goethe to address me as thou, he desired Ottilie to say to me on the following day, in that case I must remain longer than the two days I had fixed, otherwise he could not regain the more familiar habit I wished. He repeated this to me himself, saying that he did not think I should lose much by staying a little longer, and invited me always to dine with him when I had no other engagement. I have consequently been with him every day, and yesterday I told him a great deal about Scotland, and Hengstenberg, and Spontini, and Hegel's 'Æsthetics.'[3] He sent me to Tiefurth with the ladies, but prohibited my driving to Berka, because a very pretty girl lived there, and he did not wish to plunge me into misery.
I thought to myself, this was indeed the Goethe of whom people will one day say, that he was not one single individual, but consisted of several little Goethiden. I am to play over to him to-day various pieces of Bach, Haydn, and Mozart, and thus lead him on, as he said, to the present day I should indeed have been very foolish to have regretted my delay; besides, I am a conscientious traveller, and have seen the Library, and 'Iphigenia in Aulis.' Hummel has struck out all the octaves, etc.
Felix.
Weimar, May 25th, 1830.
I have just received your welcome letter, written on Ascension Day. I cannot help myself, but must still write to you from this place. I will soon send you, dear Fanny, a copy of my symphony; I am having it written out here, and mean to forward it to Leipzig (where perhaps it will be performed), with strict orders to deliver it into your own hands, as soon as possible. Try to collect opinions as to the title I ought to select; Reformation Symphony, Confession Symphony, Symphony for a Church Festival, Juvenile Symphony, or whatever you like. Write to me on this subject, and instead of a number of stupid suggestions, send me one clever one; still, I should rather like to hear some of the nonsensical ones sure to be devised on the occasion.
Yesterday evening I was at a party at Goethe's, and played alone the whole evening—the Concert-Stück, the Invitation à la Valse, and Weber's Polonaise in C, my three Welsh pieces, and my Scotch Sonata. It was over by ten o'clock, but I of course stayed till twelve o'clock, when we had all sorts of fun, dancing and singing; so you see I lead a most jovial life here. The old gentleman goes to his room regularly at nine o'clock, and as soon as he is gone, we begin our frolics, and never separate before midnight.
To-morrow my portrait is to be finished; a large black-crayon sketch, and very like; but I look rather sulky. Goethe is so friendly and kind to me, that I don't know how to thank him sufficiently, or what to do to deserve it. In the forenoon he likes me to play to him the compositions of the various great masters, in chronological order, for an hour, and also tell him the progress they have made, while he sits in a dark corner, like a Jupiter tonans, his old eyes flashing on me. He did not wish to hear anything of Beethoven's, but I told him that I could not let him off, and played the first part of the Symphony in C minor. It seemed to have a singular effect on him; at first he said, "This causes no emotion, nothing but astonishment: it is grandios." He continued grumbling in this way, and after a long pause he began again—"It is very grand, very wild; it makes one fear that the house is about to fall down; and what must it be when played by a number of men together!" During dinner, in the midst of another subject, he alluded to it again. You know that I dine with him every day, when he questions me very minutely, and is always so gay and communicative after dinner, that we generally remain together alone for an hour while he speaks on uninterruptedly.
I have no greater pleasure than when he brings out engravings, and explains them to me, or gives his opinion of Ernani, or Lamartine's Elegies, or the theatre, or pretty girls. He has several times lately invited people, which he rarely does now, so that most of the guests had not seen him for a long time. I then play a great deal, and he compliments me before all these people, and "ganz stupend" is his favourite expression. To-day he has invited a number of Weimar beauties on my account, because he thinks that I ought to enjoy the society of young people. If I go up to him on such occasions, he says, "My young friend, you must join the ladies, and make yourself agreeable to them." I am not however devoid of tact, so I contrived to have him asked yesterday whether I did not come too often; but he growled out to Ottilie, who put the question to him, that "he must now begin to speak to me in good earnest, for I had such clear ideas, that he hoped to learn much from me." I became twice as tall in my own estimation, when Ottilie repeated this to me. He said so to me himself yesterday; and when he declared that there were many subjects he had at heart that I must explain to him, I said, "Oh, certainly!" but I thought, "This is an honour I can never forget,"—often it is the very reverse.
Felix.
Munich, June 6th, 1830.
It is a long time since I have written to you, and I fear you may have been anxious on my account. You must not be angry with me, for it was really no fault of mine, and I have been not a little annoyed about it. I expedited my journey as well as I could, inquiring everywhere about diligences, and invariably receiving false information. I travelled through one night on purpose to enable me to write to you by this day's post, of which I was told at Nürnberg; and when at last I arrive, I find that no post leaves here to-day: it is enough to drive one wild, and I feel out of all patience with Germany and her petty Principalities, her different kinds of money, her diligences, which require an hour and a quarter for a German mile, and her Thuringian forests, where there is incessant rain and wind—nay, even with her 'Fidelio' this very evening, for, though dead beat, I must do my duty by going to see it, when I would far rather go to bed. Pray do not be angry with me, or scold me for my delay in writing; I do assure you that this very night while I was travelling, I thought I saw peeping through the clouds the shadow of your threatening finger; but I shall now proceed to explain why I could not write sooner.
Some days after my last letter from Weimar, I wished, as I told you, to set off for this place, and said so during dinner to Goethe, who made no reply. After dinner however he withdrew with Ottilie into the recess of a window, and said, "You must persuade him to remain." She endeavoured to prevail on me to do so, and walked up and down in the garden with me. I wished however to show that I was a man of determination, so I remained steady to my resolve. Then came the old gentleman himself, and said he saw no use in my being in such a hurry; that he had still a great deal to tell me, and I had still a great deal to play to him; and what I had told him as to the object of my journey, was really all nonsense—Weimar was my present object—and he could not see that I was likely to find in tables-d'hôte elsewhere, what I could not obtain here: I would see plenty of hotels in my travels. He talked on in this style, which touched my heart, especially as Ottilie and Ulrike added their persuasions, assuring me that the old gentleman much more often insisted on people going away, than on their remaining; and as no one can be so sure of enjoying a number of happy days, that he can afford to throw away those that cannot fail to be pleasant, and as they promised to go with me to Jena, I resolved not to be a man of determination, and agreed to stay.
Seldom in the course of my life have I so little regretted any resolution as on this occasion, for the following day was by far the most delightful that I ever passed in Goethe's house. After an early drive, I found old Goethe very cheerful; he began to converse on various subjects, passing from the 'Muette de Portici' to Walter Scott, and thence to the beauties in Weimar; to the 'Students,' and the 'Robbers,' and so on to Schiller; then he spoke on uninterruptedly for more than an hour, with the utmost animation, about Schiller's life and writings, and his position in Weimar. He proceeded to speak of the late Grand-Duke, and of the year 1775, which he designated as the intellectual spring of Germany, declaring that no man living could describe it so well as he could; indeed, it had been his intention to have devoted the second volume