six cents francs, et non quatre cents. Je t'aime. Feuilleton en route. - A. Dumas." The second feuilleton, announced by despatch, arrived the next morning, and contained just four lines by Dumas. It commenced: "I borrow from my good friend Benedict Revoil the following details about serpents," &c. And at the end: "In my next feuilleton I will give an account of the boa-constrictor, the most curious of all."

MME. ROSSINI has commenced a very remarkable action against a gentleman from whom she claims fifty thousand francs damages, on the ground of his having sung or caused to be sung, at one or more private parties, compositions, as yet unpublished, by her late husband. M. Michotte, the defendant in the suit, had been intrusted by Mme. Rossini with a number of new pieces for voice and piano-forte formally bequeathed to her by the great composer. It was necessary to fit many of the vocal pieces with words; and this task was at M. Michotte's request undertaken and performed by M. Wilder. During the two sieges of Paris, M. Michotte, with Rossini's last productions in his possession, was in Belgium; and at Louvain and elsewhere, he committed the offences charged against him by Rossini's widow. M. Michotte does not deny the allegation; but he pleads that, so far from depreciating the pieces confided to him by introducing a few of them to the notice of connoisseurs at musical parties, he by that very course increased their saleable value. Of late years, he argues, what little Rossini did produce was not thought worthy of him by his admirers; whereas the last compositions are in his best style-a fact with which it was desirable that the musical world should be made acquainted.

TO "LYDIA LANGUISH."

But

IV.

to be serious if you care To know how I shall really bear

This much-discussed rejection,
I answer you. As feeling men
Behave, in best romances, when

You outrage their affection;
With all the ecstasy of woe,
By which, as melodramas show,
Despair is simulated;
Enforced by all the watery grief
Which hugest pocket-handkerchief
Has ever indicated;

And when, arrived so far, you say
In tragic accents, "Go,"

Then, Lydia, then I still shall stay,
And firmly answer — - No.

I.

You ask me, Lydia, "whether I,
If you refuse my suit, shall die.'
(Now pray don't be offended ;)
Although the time be out of joint,
I should not to a bodkin's point
Resort, at once to mend it;
Nor, if your doubtful mood endure,
Attempt a final water-cure

Except against my wishes;

For I respectfully decline

To dignify the Serpentine

And make hors-d'œuvres for fishes. But, if you ask me whether I Composedly can go, Without a look, without a sigh, Why, then I answer- - No.

II.

"You are assured," you sadly say (If in this most considerate way

To treat my suit your will is),
That I shall "quickly find as fair
Some new Neæra's tangled hair -
Some easier Amaryllis."
I cannot promise to be cold
If smiles are kind as yours of old
On lips of later beauties;
Nor can I hope to quite forget
The homage that is Nature's debt,
While man has social duties;
But, if you ask, do I prefer
To you I honor so

This highly hypothetic Her,
I answer plainly - No.

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VOL. I.]

RECOLLECTIONS OF FELIX MENDELSSOHN AND HIS FRIENDS.

I

BY DR. DORN, CAPELLMEISTER OF BERLIN.

WAS

a young man of three and twenty, prosecuting my legal studies in Berlin, when I first knew Felix Mendelssohn, then a lad of twelve years. One winter's experience showed me, that though I could get through my college terms, I should never be able to pass all the necessary law examinations, as I had so much musical business on my hands. At evening parties I was in constant request, being found very useful, as I was at once a piano-forteplayer, an accompanyist, and a solo-singer- a rare combination in one individual, of which I can recall no other instances than Gustav Reichardt and Reissiger. Musical parties in Berlin at that time were at the height of their glory, and attended only by ladies and gentlemen who really loved music, and cultivated it as an art, and who were able upon emergency to perform whole operas or oratorios. Tea was handed round before the musical business of the evening began, and we wound up with cold refreshments and quartet singing.

One Friday, at the "at home" evening of my old countryman Abraham Friedlander, as I was in the midst of the well-known duet of Spohr's between Faust and Röschen, with a talented young singer, a commotion arose in the anteroom, which was most unusual, for a profound silence always prevailed when any thing was going on. During the pathetic air," Fort von hier auf schönere Auen," my partner whispered to me, "Felix has come;" and when the duet was finished, I made the acquaintance of Felix Mendelssohn, then a lad twelve years old, residing with his parents on the Neue Promenade, only a few steps from Friedländer's house. He apologized for having interrupted our song by his entrance, and offered to play the accompaniments for me; "or shall we play them alternately?" he said -a regular Mendelssohn way of putting the question, which, even twenty years later, he made use of to a stranger in a similar position. At that time it would have been difficult to picture a more prepossessing exterior than that of Felix Mendelssohn; though every one made use of the familiar "Du" in addressing him, yet it was very evident that even his most intimate acquaintances set a great value on his presence amongst them. He was rarely allowed to go to such large parties, but when he did do so, the music, and the con amore spirit with which it was carried on, seemed to afford him real pleasure, and he, in his turn, contributed largely to the enjoyment. People made a great deal of him, and Johanna Zimmermann, Friedländer's niece, who had lost her husband while bathing in the Tyrol, regularly persecuted the young fellow, so that he could scarcely escape from her attentions. Young as he was, he even then accompanied singing in a manner only to be met with amongst the older and more thorough musicians who possessed that especial gift. At Königsberg the orchestral management of the piano was an unknown thing, and even in Berlin I had as yet had no opportunity of admiring this skill and facility in any one. That man was considered a Very respectable musician who played from the printed copy con amore, and thus helped the singer now and then; but he who was able to enrich the slender piano-forte acompani

[No. 10

ment with octave basses and full chords, of course stood in a much higher position. Such a gifted being was Felix, even at that time; and in the duet between Florestan and Leonora, which he accompanied, he astonished me in the passage "Du wieder nun in meinen Armen, o Gott!" by the way in which he represented the violoncello and the contre-basso parts on the piano, playing them two octaves apart. I afterwards asked him why he had chosen this striking way of rendering the passage, and he explained all to me in the kindest manner. How many times since has that duet been sung in Berlin to the piano-forte, but how rarely has it been accompanied in such a manner! In the winter of 1824-25 I was quite at home in the Mendelssohns' house; that is to say, I made my appearance there every Sunday morning at the musical entertainments, and was always invited to their evening parties, as a singer to be reckoned upon, and as one always ready to take a part in the dance. At the matinées I became by degrees personally acquainted with all the musicians of importance in Berlin. Men, such as Lanska, who had instructed both Felix and his sister Fanny (Fanny Mendelssohn at this time played more brilliantly than her brother Felix), Wollank (councillor of justice, and the composer of many well-known songs), and Karl Friedrich Zelter, almost alone marked that heavy period of Berlin's musical history, during which time no creative talent of any importance appeared. Simultaneously, however, with the recall of Spontini from Paris, three stars arose, and the whole attention of the musical world was directed to the native genius of Berlin, in the persons of Ludwig Berger, Bernhard Klein, and Felix Mendelssohn, all in the different ages of life.

I very seldom missed one of those interesting gatherings at the Neue Promenade, where, besides the greater compositions, which were henceforth studied under Berger's guidance, the newest works of the wonderful boy Felix were regularly played over mostly sets of symphonies for stringed instruments with piano-forte accompaniment

by

a small number selected from the royal chamber-musicians. Prof. Zelter, with whom Felix had studied counterpoint, was his most eager auditor, and at the same time his most severe censor. More than once after the performance, I myself have heard Zelter call out in a loud voice to his pupil that several alterations were necessary, whereupon, without saying a word, Felix would quietly fold up the score, and before the next Sunday he would go over it, and then play the composition with the desired corrections. In these rooms also, before the family removed to Leipziger Strasse, a threeact comic opera was performed, all the characters being apportioned and the dialogue read out at the piano. The libretto for "The Uncle from Boston" was written by a young physician, Dr. Caspar, who afterwards became a famous man. Every one who came in contact with him had something to relate of his wit, and I remember even now Holtei telling me, when I was at Riga, of the sparkling witty farewell speech addressed. by Caspar to the Councillor Nernst, on the removal of the latter as postmaster-general from Berlin to Tilsit. He finished with " Depart, and the peace of Tilsit be with you!"

Although the musical compositions of this "American Uncle" pleased all the parties connected with it extremely, the subject of it was nevertheless very weak. Dévrient, and his fiancée, Therese Schlesinger, Johanna Zimmermann, the Doctors Andriessen and Dittmar, all took part in this

opera. I was also a chorus-singer in it, and from one circumstance this evening will never be forgotten by me. When the opera was finished, there were the regular slices of bread and butter, with the usual addition of anchovies, cold meat, cheese, &c. Edward Rietz and myself were enjoying our portion, when Felix, who was going the round of the room to thank all the singers personally, stopped before us to ask how we were faring in the way of refreshment. I showed him my share of the spoil.

"And which do you consider your dux?" (the leading, principal subject) he asked; "and which is your comes?" (the secondary theme.)

"Well, of course I consider my bread and butter my

dux."

The old gentleman stood in the middle of the room with a brimming glass in his hand, and whilst every one was listening intently, he said: "Felix, you have hitherto only been an apprentice; from to-day you are an assistant, and now work on till you become a master."

Therewith he gave him a tap on the cheek, as if he were dubbing him a knight, and then the whole party pressed forward to congratulate the affected and astonished parents, as well as Felix, who pressed his old master's hand warmly more than once. This is one of those scenes that can never be effaced from one's memory. It made such a pow

erful impression on me that I wrote the following day to my guardian to ask if I might become a pupil of Zelter's, and by his help rise to the higher grades. This permission I certainly received, but how different anticipation is to reality! Zelter was a whimsical old fellow, to whom it was all the same whether his pupils were young or old, gifted or without talent, beginners or advanced. All were treated alike, except as in the case of Mendelssohn's private lessons, when he really did instruct. I bore it for half a year, then I could not put up with it any more, and so I went over to Bernhard Klein, and never had reason to repent doing so.

With the removal of the Mendelssohn family from the Neue Promenade to Leipziger Strasse, to the same house where our present Chamber of Deputies hold their sittings, the circle of their acquaintance was much extended, owing in a great measure to Felix's increasing fame. Among the more intimate acquaintances may be reckoned Rietz, Klingemann, Marx, Franck, and Dévrient. Rietz, elder brother of the royal chapel-master at Dresden, was himself a member of the royal orchestra, and Mendelssohn's instructor on the violin. I may safely say that of all Felix's friends no one loved him more enthusiastically than Rietz. He was a grave, silent person, of a middle size and spare figure, endowed with a large share of nose between two fiery eyes, and always dressed in a tail-coat. When the two friends were

together, the idea was always suggested to me of Faust and Mephistopheles, though there was certainly little enough of the diabolic in either of them. Robert and Bertram might perhaps have been more suitable, but such a connection had not then been proclaimed by Scribe and Meyerbeer. Rietz's artistic career was early cut short by the nerve of his third finger being injured during the performance of "Olympia." He died in 1832. Mendelssohn has dedicated his famous "Octett" to him.

Klingemann, the son of the well-known composer of plays, and manager of the theatre at Brunswick, made the most agreeable impression upon me of all Mendelssohn's more intimate acquaintances. He was attached to the Hanoverian Embassy, and was therefore admitted to the higher circles of society. Both his appearance and demeanor had something unaffectedly aristocratic in them, and in his whole manner to the ladies of the house he was vastly superior to the other visitors. It always appeared to me that Klingemann was most correct in his judgment of Felix. He did not worship him, and it never could have entered into his head to rival him, for he did not compose; he was neither insensible to the great qualities nor blind to the

weak points of his young friend; and that he thoroughly knew how to appreciate the strongest side of Mendelssohn's talents is shown in the words which he wrote for Felix to set to music. A great many songs which Mendelssohn has arranged have been quite as well, perhaps even better, sut by other musicians, but no one has ever yet succeeded in surpassing a song of Mendelssohn's with Klingemann's words; it was like two hearts beating with one pulsation. The capabilities of the youthful Secretary to the Embassy were certainly not equal to the composition of opera librettos; this was not, however, the field on which Felix ever earned any laurels, even when master of his profession; indeed they never bloomed for him at any time, as is shown by the production of his opera, "The Wedding of Camacho,” written in the high tide of his youth. Klingemann was an eager supporter of the Berlin Musical Times, which hal been started in 1824.

A great contrast in appearance with his colleague was the editor of this paper, A. B. Marx, who, although he had had a more thorough education, both as regards music and his profession as a lawyer, than either of the above-named gentlemen, and far exceeded them in cutting sharpness of intellect, yet, from his lack of polish and manner, his real scientific and dialectic superiority did not have the happy effect on those around that it would otherwise have done. He quickly interested himself about persons and things, an 1 his sympathy once aroused, there could be no warmer nor more skilful advocate than he. He soon gained a great influence over Felix, which was often annoying to the elder Mendelssohn; but he had his own good reasons for not abruptly breaking off the connection. Marx was the editor of the Musical Times, at that period the only critical organ, and therefore not to be despised, especially as it was supported by many gifted friends of the Mendelssohns. over, the elder Mendelssohn was very fond of contradict ing, and of being contradicted; and in our Abbé (as he was called, after his initials A. B.) he found the right sort of opponent.

More

Midway between Klingemann and Marx stood Dr. Franck; of Breslau, possessing much of the refinement of the former, with more reserve of manner, and all the liveliness of conversation of the latter, with, however, less solidity. He had a sound judgment in musical matters, and soon discovered the weaknesses in Spontini's "Cortez;" he wrote a stinging article upon that opera in 1826, which was the signal for a complete rupture between Marx and Spontini; he had only armed his party with spectacles, and had overlooked many bright spots in the opera, rejecting the good with the bad. Spontini afterwards led the whole opposition against Mendelssohn; and as previously there had been little affinity between two such different elements, any nearer approach was now rendered impossible.

In 1849 I again met Franck; now, instead of the lifeloving, exuberant man that he had been, a complete hypochondriac. He still took an eager interest in literature, and was quite imbued with the Wagner mania, and sent me that composer's "Nibelungen-Tetralogie." What would Mendelssohn have said to this, had he been alive at that time? Franck came to an untimely end soon afterwards in London; but these are painful recollections, and the circle of Felix's friends shall be concluded with the name of Devrient, to the truth of whose interesting book about Mendelssohn, which has lately appeared, I can vouch. I had frequent opportunities of meeting Mendelssohn at the rooms of Johanna Zimmermann, the young widow previously meutioned, who, although somewhat eccentric, possessed a thoroughly musical nature; so that Felix felt himself completely at his ease in that unconstrained artistic atmosphere. His own home was, of course, much trequented by interesting and celebrated people, but the greater portion of them were not musicians. Foreign music.l celebrities were, indeed, always hospitably received, but native talent was very weakly represented. Although Felix was by no means insensible to praise, he was not at all blind as to whether it was given with discrimination or the Marx and he were at Dehn's rooms on one occasion, I remember, and the first part of the evening we en.

reverse.

ployed ourselves in all sorts of fools' tricks, such as cutting out figures with paper and apple-parings, until Felix got up and, unasked, played on the old piano till long after midnight a number of his own and other compositions. This gave him more real satisfaction than on many an occasion at his parents' house, where, with a first-rate Broadwood at his command, he had a large but very mixed audience. I well recollect a lady (Rahel Varnhagen) asking him for the A-Minor fugue of Bach's. "If I had played some variations of Czerny's, it would have been all the same to her," he remarked to me afterwards. Such an uncongenial assembly was never to be found at Madame Zimmermann's; there all participated equally, listening and performing; and I have never heard Felix extemporize better than at this house, where he was conscious of being thoroughly understood.

Before I left Berlin in March, 1828, I was present at the first performance of the overture to the "Midsummer Night's Dream," conducted by Mendelssohn himself, with a full orchestra, at his father's house. This work certainly contains the germ and bloom of all Mendelssohn's compositions, and the grand chorus of St. Paul," Mache dir auf, werde Licht," alone deserves to be put by its side.

I

In May, 1830, Mendelssohn visited me in Leipzig, where I was officiating as director of music, at what was then the Theatre Royal. He had just returned from London, and having attained his one-and-twentieth year, was about to commence his travels through Italy, to which we are indebted for that interesting collection of letters, which afford so deep an insight into a real poetic and musical nature. invited him, with Marschner, who was then busy on his latest work, "The Templar and the Jewess," to come to my house the following evening, and I quickly asked a few other celebrities to meet him; in spite of the party being of the ill-omened number of thirteen, we were most animated, and every thing went off admirably until the time arrived for my grand finale. A present I had received same time back of some rare old wine of a celebrated vintage, all covered with cobwebs and dust and dirt of half a century, was to be brought forward on a certain sign from

me.

The auspicious moment arrived, the maid put fresh glasses on the table and disappeared, and I prepared the minds of my guests for the monstrous sight they were about to see by drawing an exaggerated picture of its horrors. In the midst of my flourishing address, the maid walked in, and placed on the table four brightly-scoured, shining bottles, exactly resembling those containing that agreeable vin ordinaire called "Kutscher;" mark, seal, label, all had disappeared, had fallen a sacrifice to the principle, "Cleanliness is next to godliness." My disgust can be well imagined. Fortunately, our palates bore testimony to the excellency of the wine, and so my friend Kistner's honor was retrieved On the 2d of June, 1830, I received the following letter from Mendelssohn, dated from Weimar:

-:

"DEAR DORN,- Herewith follows my symphony, very punctually, and still in time I hope to be copied out, studied, and performed by the day before yesterday. Seriously, however, I am very sorry that I could not fulfil my promise. You always declared you knew how it would be, but I can assure you I had quite made up my mind to do it, and the very first day of my arrival here I began the necessary corrections in the score, which soon became so numerous that I had to take away much of the old part, and to add to the last portion. If the copyist recommended to me had kept his promise, you would even then have had the symphony in time but he put me off from day to day, and here I have been fourteen instead of four days. It comes at last, you see, and perhaps you will look through it and communicate with Marschner as to the sufficiency of the abbreviations in the last part; when you have had enough of it, which I am afraid will be very soon, will you kindly forward it to Madame Hensel. Perhaps it is as well for some reasons that the performance has been postponed, for it occurred to me afterwards that the choral part and the other Catholicisms would have a strange appearance in a theatre, and that a Reformation song would not sound very well at

Whitsuntide. In short, I am an optimist. Remember me very warmly to Marschner, and thank him for his many kindnesses, and for the enjoyment he has afforded me by his beautiful compositions. I mean to write him a long musical letter as soon as I get to Munich. Farewell, and think of me always kindly. Yours, &c., "FELIX MENDELSSOHN."

That I have never ceased to do.

On the 13th of September, 1843, Robert Schumann celebrated the birthday of his wife Clara. I appeared as an unexpected guest at the breakfast-table, where, besides David and Grützmacher, I met Mendelssohn again after thirteen years. When we had partaken of a bountiful repast, we had a succession of musical enjoyments. Schumann surprised his wife with a new trio, which was instantly tried, and Felix produced as his present "The Spring Song," and played it for the first time. This beautiful piece is the pearl of the fifth book of his "Lieder ohne Worte," which, as is well known, is dedicated to Madame Schumann. The little company was so enraptured with it that the composer had to repeat it twice. It was a worthy conclusion to the celebration of the day.

The next day I dined at Councillor Frege's, and again had the pleasure of meeting Mendelssohn, who even during the dessert placed himself at the piano and gave us some of his beautiful songs, which were sung with full appreciation by Livia Gerhardt, the celebrated singer. My third and last day at Leipzig was devoted to my friend Petschke, who had assembled a little party in honor of Mendelssohn, who seemed to be as much at his ease as he had formerly been as a young man in the house of Johanna Zimmermann. Petschke had asked me to bring some of my own compositions with me, and I found some attentive listeners to my "Schöffen von Paris." Mendelssohn, however, greatly surprised me by declaring he already knew one of the airs I had played, and seating himself at the piano, went through ten or twelve bars, where certainly the harmonies of my air occurred, although I failed to recognize where I had heard them before. "Why, you do not know your own composition again?" said Mendelssohn; "that is the final chorus to The Magician and Monster.' That was

a melodrama for which I had written the music, and which Mendelssohn had liked at the time, and of which now, sixteen years later, he could remember chords that had long since passed from my mind. When I expressed astonishment at his memory, he said, in a very gratifying manner, "It is only good melodies we should endeavor to retain."

I fear that the musical festival at Cologne, which gave rise to so much unpleasantness between the heads of the various musical societies, also caused a coldness between Mendelssohn and myself; I could not, in the interest of my party, approve of all the measures which were carried out, and I fear my conduct was represented to him in a manne calculated to wound. Unfortunately, I had neither time nor opportunity, during his twelve-hours' stay, to explain to him the Cologne comedy of "party faction," so I am afrai that he parted from me with resentment in his heart, whi'st my admiration for his genius, profound knowledge, nob e striving, and great lovableness always remained the same.

On the 9th of November, 1847, five days after Mendelsohn's death, I directed the second winter concert at Cologne, and, amidst the universal sympathy and expresion of the deepest grief, the solemn chorus from St. Pa was introduced: "Behold, we reckon those happy wh have endured; for though the body die, yet will the soul live forever."

THE INFLUENCE OF TRAVEL.

BY HENRY KINGSLEY.

WE allow most entirely that the individual influence of travelled men is rapidly decreasing; but we assert in the strongest manner that the new habit of continuous travel is exercising, on this nation at all events, a wonderful influence, which seems to us very good. In old times, a mîn