Selected letters of Mendelssohn/Letter 17
TO HIS MOTHER.
Dear Mother,—At last I have a chance of thanking you for your dear letter. You know how much your lines rejoice me, and I hope you do not find writing troublesome, for your hand is as small and clear and classical at the end as at the beginning, and as it always was; so I beg you, let me have the joy of seeing it often; you know how grateful I am. You take me home so completely; I am there while I read your letter, enjoying the summer in our garden, visit the exhibition, tease Ganz about his satisfaction at an invitation from Metternich, and almost renew my flirtations with the fair Russian ladies. These flittings home are better than ever these last weeks, during which I have been absorbed in thunderings and disputations about Düsseldorf, art, the rising glory of the Rhineland, and other new marvels. This place has brought me into a fearful state of heat and confusion, and things go harder than in my busiest time in London. When I set to work in the morning there comes a pull at the bell at every bar; a procession of singers with grievances to assail me, or incompetent singers whom I have to instruct, or else they are shabby players whom I have to engage; and when that has gone on all day, and I say to myself, it is all for the Düsseldorf theatre and its salvation, my temper becomes terribly bad. At the day before yesterday I made up my mind, shook myself free of the whole business, and now I am a man again. It was, indeed, a difficult matter to inform our theatrical autocrat, alias stage-mufti, of this resolution. He bit his lip at me as if he was going to devour me whole, but I delivered him a short, impressive speech, and informed him that my own work concerned me more than the future of the Düsseldorf theatre, so in spite of the utmost desire, etc. etc. In short, they let me go under the sole condition that I should, from time to time, act as conductor, and this I promised and will observe. •••••• With “St. Paul” I have now reached a point at which I should like to play it to someone, only I can’t find the right person. My friends here are quite delighted with it, but that does not prove very much. I miss the cantor[1] with her thick eyebrows and her critical sense. I have almost got the second part into shape in my mind up to the place where they imagine St. Paul to be Jupiter, and want to sacrifice to him; several great choruses will have to come in here, but I have no notion of them yet—it is hard. You ask if I have made any arrangements for publishing at Leipsic. Breitkopf and Hartel, however, give me to understand they are ready to publish everything, and this for the sake of a future issue of my collected works (doesn’t that sound vastly imposing?). They say they feel much injured at the production of anything of mine by another publisher. The good people shall be saved such troubles in future. But apart from them I have had letters from six musical publishers in different places asking for things to bring out. This sounds rather like vain-glory, but I know you will be glad to hear it, and will excuse me.
- ↑ Fanny.