Selected letters of Mendelssohn/Letter 10
TO HIS FAMILY.
•••••• In the evenings I was always in society, owing to a mad idea of mine, which, like some others, succeeded admirably. I believe I have discovered this sort of eccentricity, and must take out a patent for it, for I have always made the most charming acquaintances, without letters, introductions, or anything of the sort. On arriving I chanced to ask the names of the officers commanding in the garrison, and among those of various generals occurred General Ertmann’s. This recalled to me Beethoven’s sonata in A major and its dedication. And as I had heard from everybody the most charming accounts of Frau Ertmann, who is said to have fascinated Beethoven, and to be an exquisite pianist, I attired myself in a frock-coat at the proper hour for visiting, inquired my way to the palace, and, composing a fine speech for Madame General en route, went boldly to call on her.
It is not to be denied that I was alarmed on hearing that the general resided on the first floor in the front, and as I reached the magnificent vaulted vestibule, I felt in a perfect panic, and would gladly have turned back. But it seemed too provincial to be disconcerted by a vaulted ceiling. So I advanced straight on a knot of military men who stood there, and asked an old person in an undress jacket if General Ertmann lived there, as I wished to call on Madame Ertmann. Unfortunately, he replied, “I am General Ertmann, at your service.” This was very unpleasant, and I had to bring out my whole speech in an abridgment. He did not seem particularly edified, and begged to know whom he had the honour of addressing. This was not pleasant either, but, fortunately, he knew my name, and became very courteous; his wife, he said, was not at home. I should find her at two, if I was then free, or at another hour. I was delighted that it had turned out so well in the end, and spent the intervening time at the Brera, looked at Raphael’s Sposalizio, and at two made the acquaintance of Freifrau Dorothea v. Ertmann.
She received me in a very friendly manner, and was so obliging as to play me Beethoven’s sonata in C sharp minor, and then the one in D minor. The old general, who now appeared in his grey full-dress uniform with many decorations, was highly pleased, and shed tears of joy. He had not heard his wife play for so long. There was no one in Milan who cared to listen to that style of music. She spoke of the trio in B flat, which she could not well recall. I played it and sang the voice parts; this gave the old couple great joy, and so our acquaintance became complete. Since then they have shown me a friendliness which makes me quite ashamed. The old general shows me the points of interest in Milan. In the afternoon his wife calls for me in her carriage to drive on the Corso, and in the evenings we have music till one o’clock. Yesterday morning they took me an excursion in the country, and made me come to dinner at midday. In the evening they had a reception. Besides, they are the most delightful and cultivated people one can wish for, and as much in love with one another as though they had been married the other day, instead of four and thirty years ago. Yesterday he was speaking of his profession and military life, and about personal courage and kindred matters, with a clearness and a fine freedom of view such as I have scarcely heard except from father. He has already been an officer for forty-six years, and you should see him riding beside his wife’s carriage in the park, such a brisk and noble style the old gentleman has still. She plays Beethoven’s things very beautifully, though it is long since she studied them. Often she exaggerates the expression a little, lingering too much, and then hurrying on, yet she renders some pieces grandly. And I think I have learnt something from her. At times she can draw out no more expression from the piano, and then she throws in her voice, that seems to come straight from her innermost heart; at those times she often reminds me of you, my Fanny, though, indeed, you far surpass her. As I reached the end of the adagio on the trio in B major, she exclaimed, “It is too expressive to be played,” and that is really true of the passage. The next day I was there again, and played the symphony in C minor; she insisted on my taking off my coat on account of the heat. Now and then the general throws in the most wonderful stories about Beethoven, how one evening, when she was playing, he used the candle-snuffers for a tooth-pick, etc.
She told me how, when she lost her last child, Beethoven at first could not bring himself to come to the house. At last he begged her to visit him, and when she got there he sat down at the piano, and said only, “We will talk in music.” Then he played on for an hour, and as she expressed it, “He said everything to me, and in the end brought me consolation.”