Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

"But the time of the year is come for changeable weather."

"Well, yes. The fact is, these autumn races are the ruin of everybody. Never did I see such a day as 'twas! "Tis a wild open place, not far from the sands, and a drab sea rolled in towards us like liquid misery. Wind and rain-good Lord! Dark? Why, 'twas as black as my hat before the last race was run. 'Twas five o'clock, and you couldn't see the horses till they were almost in, leave alone colors. The ground was as heavy as lead, and all judgment from a fellow's experience went for nothing. Horses, riders, people, were all blown about like ships at sea. Three booths were blown over, and the wretched folk inside crawled out upon their hands and knees; and in the next field were as many as a dozen hats at one time. Aye, Pimpernel regularly stuck fast when about sixty yards off, and when I saw Policy stepping on, it did knock my heart against the lining of my ribs, I assure you, my love!"

"And you mean, Frank," said Bathsheba, sadly, - her voice was painfully lowered from the fulness and vivacity of the previous summer, "that you have lost more than a hundred pounds in a month by this dreadful horse-racing? Oh, Frank, it is cruel; it is foolish of you to take away my money so. We shall have to leave the farm; that will be the end of it!"

"Humbug about cruel. Now, there 'tis again turn on the water-works; that's just like you."

"But you'll promise me not to go to Budmouth races next week, won't you?" she implored. Bathsheba was at the full depth for tears, but she maintained a dry eye.

[ocr errors]

I don't see why I should; in fact, if it turns out to be a fine day, I was thinking of taking you."

66

Never, never! I'll go a hundred miles the other way first. I hate the sound of the very word!

[ocr errors]

"But the question of going to see the race or staying at home has very little to do with the matter. Bets are all booked safely enough before the race begins, you may depend. Whether it is a bad race for me or a good one, will have very little to do with our going there next Monday."

"But you don't mean to say that you have risked anything on this one too!" she exclaimed, with an agonized look.

"There now, don't you be a little fool. Wait till you are told. Why, Bathsheba, you've lost all the pluck and sauciness you formerly had; and upon my life, if I had known what a chicken-hearted creature you were under all your boldness, I'd never have I know what."

A flash of indignation might have been seen in Bathsheba's dark eyes as she looked resolutely ahead after this reply. They moved on without further speech, some early-withered leaves from the beech-trees which hooded the road at this spot occasionally spinning downward across their path to the earth.

A woman appeared on the brow of the hill. The ridge was so abrupt that she was very near the husband and wife before she became visible. Troy had turned towards the gig to remount, and whilst putting his foot on the step the woman passed behind him.

Though the overshadowing trees and the approach of eventide enveloped them in gloom, Bathsheba could see plainly enough to discern the extreme poverty of the woman's garb, and the sadness of her face.

"Please, sir, do you know at what time Casterbridge Union-house closes at night?

[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

"Oh, poor thing!" exclaimed Bathsheba, instantly preparing to alight.

"Stay where you are, and attend to the horse!" said Troy, peremptorily, throwing her the reins and the whip. "Walk the horse to the top: I'll see to the woman." "But I"

"Do you hear? Clk - Poppet!"

The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on.

"How on earth did you come here? I thought you were miles away, or dead! Why didn't you write to me?" said Troy to the woman, in a strangely gentle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up.

"I feared to."

"Have you any money ? "

"None."

"Good Heaven - I wish I had more to give you! Here's wretched the merest trifle. It is every farthing I have left. I have none but what my wife gives me, you know, and I can't ask her now." The woman made no answer.

"I have only another moment," continued Troy; "and now listen. Where are you going to-night? Casterbridge Union?"

"Yes; I thought to go there."

"You shan't go there; yet, wait. Yes, perhaps for tonight; I can do nothing better- worse luck. Sleep there to-night, and stay there to-morrow. Monday is the first free day I have; and on Monday morning at ten exactly meet me on Casterbridge Bridge. I'll bring all the money I can muster. You shan't want I'll see that, Fannie; then I'll get you a lodging somewhere. Good-by till then. I am a brute - but good-by!"

[ocr errors]

After advancing the distance which completed the ascent of the hill, Bathsheba turned her head. The woman was upon her feet, and Bathsheba saw her withdrawing from Troy, and going feebly down the hill. Troy then came on towards his wife, stepped into the gig, took the reins from her hand, and without making any observation whipped the horse into a trot. He was rather pale.

"Do you know who that woman was?" said Bathsheba, looking searchingly into his face.

"I do," he said, looking boldly back into hers. "I thought you did," said she, with angry hauteur, and still regarding him. "Who is she?"

He suddenly seemed to think that frankness would benefit neither of the women.

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

GOETHE AND MENDELSSOHN.

IN the early part of 1872, Dr. Karl Mendelssohn, son of the composer, gave a public lecture at Freiburg, on the subject of his father's relations with Goethe. The lecture was subsequently repeated at Constance, and so favorably received, that the author was induced to publish it in a more comprehensive form than as originally delivered. In a pamphlet of some fifty pages we have a convenient summary of the letters that passed between the musician and the poet, and a number of interesting facts relating to Zelter, whose correspondence with Goethe fills three bulky volumes. The present publication saves the curious in arthistory matters the somewhat dreary task of sifting from a large mass of letters the various passages in which the loved and honored name of Mendelssohn appears, and sup plies to some extent an omission in Mr. Lewes's "Life of Goethe," where the name of Zelter so seldom occurs. To have had such a pupil as Mendelssohn, and so intimate a friend as Goethe, are facts which should secure for the

possessor of such privileges the respectful consideration of all students. Zelter's music is almost forgotten, and Eberwein's also; but these two men enjoyed great popularity as composers, and were notable favorites with Goethe, whose opinions on musical matters were generally fallible and open to challenge, but in the instance of Mendelssohn sound, from the very first hour that he recorded his judgment on Zelter's "best pupil." With this solitary and honorable exception, the Geheimrath's fastidiousness and caprice in questions affecting musical discernment are more curious than creditable. The late Mr. Rogers declared Paesiello to be Rossini's superior, but that Zelter and Eberwein should be preferred to Beethoven and Schubert is a still greater shock to right-minded people. Goethe's own apology for his predilection for the old style does not make his case much better. A conservatism which viewed with distrust the technical and mechanical improvements which were so conspicuous in Beethoven is lamely defended by Goethe's avowal that "the productions of our newest composers are no longer music; they go beyond the level of human feelings, and one can give them no re. sponse from the mind and heart." Probably it was the combination of social and artistic qualities, and an eminently philosophical turn of mind, that fitted Zelter for companionship with Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, and Herder, and induced the greatest in that illustrious company to lend so ready an ear to Zelter's melodies. Whatever sweetness these melodies possessed, it has completely evaporated now; whatever strength they had has succumbed to that of the musical giants who were such innovators and upstarts in the eyes of the oracle at Weimar. Zelter was a traveller, and an early professional training as an architect qualified him for forming sensible criticisms on streets and buildings. Here is Goethe's own testimony to the versatility of his friend's acquirements: -

"Zelter is always majestic and to the point. I am now looking over his letters with Riemer, and they contain invaluable things. Those letters which he has written me on his travels are especially of worth, for he has, as a sound architect and musician, the advantage that he can never want interesting subjects for criticism. As soon as he enters a city the buildings stand before him, and tell him their merits and their faults. Then the musical societies receive him at once, and show themselves to the master with their virtues and their defects. short-hand writer could but have recorded his conversations with his musical scholars, we should possess something quite unique in its way."

If a

It will be observed here that Zelter's musical genius is treated rather as ancillary to than superseding his merits as an artistic and intelligent traveller. There can be no doubt that Beethoven's personal eccentricities severely taxed the forbearance of his friends. The occasional use of snuffers as a toothpick would have been a dangerous experiment in Goethe's society, but all his oddities failed, generally speaking, to blind either friend or foe to the supremacy of his music. For some reason or other Goethe would have very little to say to him, either as a man or as a musician. They became acquainted at Teplitz, and here is Goethe's own version of the first impression made on him by Beethoven: "His talent has astounded me, but unfortunately he is a thoroughly intractable person. don't say he is wrong in finding the world detestable, but he does n't make it more enjoyable either for himself or for others." We have Mendelssohn's own authority for stating that Goethe adhered obstinately to this ungracious opinion, and that he had the greatest difficulty in persuading his host to listen to anything from the pen of the "intractable person:

[ocr errors]

I

"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 to 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 old 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 ffect on him. at first he said, 'This causes no emotion, nothing

but astonishment; it is grandiose.' 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!""

Zelter's fervent admiration for Goethe, founded on an early enthusiasm for the "Sorrows of Werther," made him anxious to introduce his pet pupil to one whose musical criticisms he must well have known to be unreliable. It should never be forgotten that Zelter was the means of first moulding his pupil's mind on the most solid of all foundations-the music of Sebastian Bach. He had been told in early life that a common artisan is a respectable character, that nothing in the world can be more pitiful than a third-rate artist, and he was determined to accustom Felix to an appreciation of the works of Bach, which had been for many years absolutely ignored in Germany — a process which, if conscientiously and wisely improved upon, would create a permanent distaste for anything commonplace or vulgar. It was once said by a great authority that a close and intense study of the Bible would keep the student's style of writing from being vulgar; an incessant study of Sebastian Bach would probably work the same result with a musician. Bach's music became a sort of gospel to Mendelssohn, who was, without doubt, indebted to his tutor for an early initiation into a creed which was so strong within him in after life, that apart from converting multitudes to the same belief, he was not satisfied until a statue was erected at Leipzig in honor of the famous Cantor. The possessor of the sacred treasures of Bach's music was old Zelter himself, who, miser-like, pored over his art monopoly, and once a week exhibited his idols to the adoring but sacred few who could appreciate their value and artistic import. The crabbed fugues, the superb descriptive recitatives, the agonizingly difficult choruses, were all golden fruits in the garden of the Hesperides, and Zelter the dragon to watch them. On Friday evenings the treasure was produced, and amongst the sacred few permitted to experimentalize on the MSS. of the old Cantor, to lay siege to St. Sebastian, were the two Mendelssohns, Felix and Fanny, and Edward Devrient, the bosom friend of the composer, who tells the story most delightfully. From those private rehearsals dated that life-long ambition with the author of "Elijah" to raise Bach to his proper rank in the world of art. What a satire is conveyed in the words addressed by Mendelssohn, some twenty-five years since, to the committee of a musical festival on the Rhine: "It is high time that at these meetings, on which the name of Handel sheds such lustre, a master, inferior to none, and in some points superior to all, should no longer be neglected."

We recommend as an appropriate motto to some of our great musical institutions, As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be." If anything could shame art societies in this country and convince them of their unpardonable supineness, surely this quotation, coming from such a judge as Mendelssohn, should have weight and influence. The gratitude which Felix felt for the many good services rendered to him by his tutor was shared by his father, who declared Zelter to be the restorer of Bach to the Germans, and assured Felix that without Zelter his studies would have taken quite another direction. He might have added, as an additional claim to gratitude, an early introduction to Goethe, whose friendship for "the young Ber liner," is a pleasing set-off to his unveiled dislike of Beethoven and utter indifference to Schubert. On the 26th of October, 1821, Zelter writes to Goethe: "I shall be glad to show your face to my Doris and my best pupil before I leave the world wherein I intend to hang on as long as possible. The pupil is a good-looking boy, lively and obedient." The good looks here alluded to well deserve the compliment, if the admirable line engraving, after a chalk drawing by Hensel, is a veritable likeness; and Sir Julius Benedict, in a lecture on Mendelssohn, delivered many years ago, alludes to the bright countenance and lustrous curls which gave to Zelter's "best pupil" so fascinating an exterior. The Mendelssohn family were in a flutter of

expectation raised by this anticipated visit to Weimar. "You may imagine," writes Madame Mendelssohn to her friend in Paris, "what it costs me to part with the dear child, although only for a few weeks. But I reckon it no small advantage for him to be introduced to Goethe under such circumstances, to stay under his roof, and to receive the blessing of the great man. Besides this, I am glad of the trip, which will divert his mind, for he is by his own choice almost too zealous a student for his age." Papa writes somewhat in Polonius fashion, with a dash of Lord Chesterfield: " Keep your mind open, my dear boy. As often as you get a letter from me I shall warn you of this. Keep a strict watch over yourself; be very particular in your behavior at meals; speak clearly and to the point; take pains as far as you can to hit the correct word. I have no need to recommend uprightness, morality, obedience to your friend and guide, who behaves like a father to you, nor of affectionate recollections of all at home, for you are a good boy." Mamma writes a thought less didactically: "Would I were a tiny mouse, to have an eye on my dear Felix far away, to see how he behaves as an independent lad. Snap up every word that falls from Goethe; I must know everything about him." The poor lad was not likely to forget the double-shotted advice, but Fanny, his favorite sister, must have an innings also, and she indorses the parental jobation with a postscript which speaks well for her unselfishness and zeal for her brother's interests: "When you arrive at Goethe's, keep your eyes and ears open; that is my advice: now, if you can't on your return home give me every word that comes from Goethe's mouth, consider our friendship gone.

It is better we should do without you a little time longer, and that you should lay up in the interval a store of the most delightful memories for the rest of your days." The parents and sister soon have news from the young traveller, whose eyes are as wide open as the fond parents and Fanny can desire, and take stock of the minutest piece of furniture belonging to his famous host. Before the visit Felix takes a turn in the Weimar church, hears the Hundredth Psalm by Handel, and makes comparisons between the organ and that in the Marienkirche at Berlin; the length of the pipes, number of the stops, etc., are all recorded. Then he goes back to the "Elephant," and sketches the house of Lucas Cranach the painter. Two hours elapsed, and Zelter introduced him to Goethe, who was discovered examining with evident satisfaction some mineral collections arranged by his son. After half an hour's walk in the garden dinner is served, and Fräulein Ulrike, when dessert is over, begs Felix to give her a kiss: a process repeated daily by Goethe himself, with this difference, that there seems to have been a graduated warmth in the embrace and a different number and mystic meaning in the kisses bestowed on the object of his affection, according as the kissing took place before or after twelve o'clock. 66 Every morning I receive from the author of Faust' and 'Werther' one kiss, and every afternoon from father and friend Goethe two kisses." In payment for this devotion Felix played two hours daily Bach's fugues and on extempore subjects. Of an evening he watched Zelter at his rubbers of whist, played in solemn seriousness by the professor, who, like Mrs. Battle, insisted 26 on a clean hearth and the rigor of the game." "Whist means "" (Felix, writing to his sister Fanny, quotes Zelter's own words) "hold your jaw (du sollst das Maul halten). Yesterday I brought your Lieder to Frau von Goethe. She has a pretty voice and will sing them to the old gentleman. I told him you had written them, and asked if he would like to hear them. Yes, I should like to, very much.' Frau von Goethe likes them very much indeed. A good omen! To-day or to-morrow he shall hear them."

Judging by the letters, Felix felt perfectly at home at Weimar, although with all the geniality and friendliness which strangers found when on a visit to Goethe there was a large admixture of ministerial etiquette and court ceremony. Zelter, the minister's intimate friend, in deference to his host's weakness, appeared of an evening in black "smalls," silk stockings with huge silver buckles, in fact,

in pleno ficu. A great deal of this stiffness was purposely adopted by the minister, who as a rule kept Berlin people at a distance. "I remark generally," he said to Eckermann, "such an audacious set of men live in Berlin that one cannot get on well with delicacy, but must have one's eyes wide open and be a little rough now and then only to keep one's head above water." The boy Felix had to endure a kindly intended but severe ordeal. Goethe was satisfied of his general cleverness, but postponed his judgment on his musical pretensions. My friend Zelter," he said to Rellstab, “has brought me his little pupil. I must have a trial of his musical capabilities and natural gifts; in every other respect he is rarely gifted. I have a theory about temperaments. Every one has four within himself, but in different and compound proportions. Now, in the case of this boy, I should credit him with the smallest possible indifference and inertness and the maximum of the opposite quality". a rather tortuous way of announcing a very evident fact, that Felix was predisposed to hard work. An evening party was assembled at Goethe's, and Zelter asked to give his pupil a subject to improvise upon. The old man sat down and played a simple Lied: "Ich träumte einst von Hännchen," which Felix proceeded to fuse into a stormy allegro, and overload with such a stream of harmonic changes that the melody was scarcely distinguishable in the wealth of scientific combinations. The delighted tutor rather snubbed than praised the wonderful display: "Why, you were dreaming of some elf or dragon, you played in such a harum-scarum way!" Goethe followed suit: "I shan't let you go off with that; you must play more before we can accept you entirely." After a turn with Sebastian Bach's fugues, a minuet was called for by Goethe's special desire. Shall I play you the finest in the world?" said Felix, and played the minuet from "Don Juan." When this was over Goethe asked for the

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

overture, but the boy flatly refused. "It can't be played as it is written, and one ought not to alter a note of it;" so he substituted the "Figaro," which he gave_in_tremendous style, bringing into relief the orchestral effects, and accentuating passages to remind his hearers of passages and instrumental changes that admitted of such treatment. So far so good, but Goethe was bent on conquering the brilliant scholar. "All this time you have only played us things you know; we should like to see what you can do with something you do not know;" and the Geheimrath fetched a quantity of manuscript music, and selected a piece in Mozart's own handwriting. This was played off with such precision that one would have supposed Felix had learnt nothing else during his life-time. Now, take care," said Goethe, "I will give you something to puzzle you;" and a sheet of paper covered over with musical hieroglyphics, blurred and blotted with ink spots, was placed on the piano. "How am I to read that? What writing!" said Felix laughing. "Guess whose it is," said Goethe. "I know," replied Zelter, as he looked at the manuscript over Felix's shoulder. "That's Beethoven's writing; I can tell it a mile off. He always writes as if he used a mop-stick and then rubbed his sleeves over the notes before they were dry. I have several of his manuscripts they cannot be mistaken." Felix meanwhile fixed his eyes steadily on the task before him, and quietly unravelled the meaning of the composer before placing his fingers on the keys. Goethe was impatient of delay. 'There; didn't I say you would come to grief? Come, let us see what you can do." The first time Felix stumbled, naturally enough, for the mixed sequence was hard to divine by the light, or rather the darkness, of the blotted paper; but a second effort resulted in a faultless performance, and Goethe masked his satisfaction behind the few words of good-humored chaff: "Anyhow you bungled here, and were n't sure at all." To some artists he addressed words of a very different kind. "There is nothing very out of the way in our days in youthful musical prodigies - I mean in respect of their powers of execution; but this little fellow's extemporary playing and playing at sight border on the marvellous, and I should not have thought such a thing possible for one of so tender an age."

[ocr errors]

"And you heard Mozart play at Frankfort, when he was seven years old?" replied Zelter.

[ocr errors]

up for me all the winged spirits which have long slumbered here.' And on another occasion: You are my David; should I become sick and miserable, banish the evil dreams with your playing. I will never, like Saul, thrust a spear after you.' Is not that very touching in an old man of seventy-three years of age? Felix, who, as a rule, is rather indifferent to praise, is rightly proud of Goethe's kindly leaning for him, and such a

"I did," answered Goethe. "I was only twelve myself at the time. Like the rest of the world, I was astounded at his wonderful execution; but your pupil's performance bears the same relationship to Mozart's playing of that date as the cultivated talk of a grown-up man to the lisp-feeling can only elevate and ennoble him. He was very kind ing of a child."

[ocr errors]

This was high praise, but Goethe was by no means sanguine in his expectations that the brilliant performer would excel as a composer. Expectations, he said, are so often falsified by events; Zelter would, as far as teaching can go, be a guarantee for good pioneership; "but, after all, a teacher's influence is a problematical affair. The greatness and individuality of an artist must depend exclusively upon himself. To what teachers are Raphael, Michael Angelo, Haydn, Mozart, and all great masters indebted for their immortal creations?" There was no fear of Felix becoming rusty at Weimar; he played frequently from six to eight hours daily, and was "rash enough (so his mother writes) "to extemporize before the Court, and in Hummel's presence." One of the highest ladies of the Court drew his likeness, and Zelter feared his pupil would soon become the enfant gâté of lords and ladies in waiting. "The women here are spoiling my lad," whose innocent flirtations and fondness for capping verses with his fair companions used to divert the Geheimrath himself, who occasionally acted as umpire, and decided on the merits of the bouts-rimés. "You have no idea," writes Felix, "of Goethe's kindness and friendliness, nor of the wealth possessed by this Polar star of poets in minerals, busts, engravings, statuettes, and drawings. I don't see anything imposing in his figure; he is not much taller than my father. But his bearing, his conversation, his name these are imposing. He has an extraordinarily resonant voice, and can shout like a million soldiers. His hair is not yet white, his gait is firm," etc. Zelter became fearful of Weimar proving a Capua, and was with difficulty prevailed on by Goethe to prolong his stay. Goethe's victorious eloquence was rewarded by a perfect hurricane of embraces. "We kissed his mouth and hand; and those who could not get so near stroked him and kissed his shoulders; had he not been in his own house I believe we should all have accompanied him home, as the Roman people did Cicero after the first Catiline oration. Moreover," Felix adds naïvely, "Fräulein Ulrike fell on his neck, and as he is devoted to her" (she is very pretty) "the whole plan succeded in bringing about the happy result." He makes Goethe write some verses for Fanny to set to music, and criticises the distinguished people who appear at Goethe's dinner-table or minister to his enjoyment and aesthetic tastes. All Weimar, headed by Goethe, raved on the subject of the piano-forte playing of a Polish lady called Czymanowska, but Felix declared they confounded her pretty face with her anything but pretty playing. He has a hit at Riemer, the learned polyglot and philologist. "He thrives on lexicon writing. He is thick, fat, and glistens like a bishop or a full moon." The projected absence for a fortnight is protracted to a month, and on the return of the party to Berlin, Zelter and Doris are full of the sensation created by Felix at Weimar.

In February, 1822, we find Goethe writing to Zelter: "Say a kind word for me to Felix and his parents. Since your departure my piano is struck dumb; a single attempt to awaken it again was little more than a failure." In the autumn of that year, Mendelssohn's parents accompanied their boy on his second visit to Goethe, and were received with the greatest cordiality. Madame Mendelssohn describes in a letter her gratitude for the continued interest shown by Goethe in the progress of the gifted lad:

"He talked by the hour with my husband about Felix, and gave him a pressing invitation to prolong his visit; his eyes rested on Felix with evident satisfaction, and his usual earnestness gave place to a look of beaming cheerfulness whenever he extemporized in a style that pleased him. He does not like commonplace music, so his piano, since Felix left, had remained untouched. He opened it for him, saying: 'Come, and wake

and condescending to Fanny; she had to play a great deal of Bach's music to him, and his Lieder set to her music pleased him exceedingly."

On the 11th of March, 1823, Zelter reports further progress:

"My Felix has entered his fifteenth year. He grows under my very eyes. His extraordinary piano-forte playing I regard as a matter of secondary importance. He can become a master on the violin as well. The second act of his fourth opera is finished. All his music is gaining in solidity," etc.

There are other letters of Zelter, all written in the same strain of astonishment at the early development of powers which culminated at the early age of sixteen in the wonderful music to the "Midsummer Night's Dream."

[ocr errors]

It seems strange that after such abundant proofs of early genius the lad should have been taken to Paris, with a view of having Cherubini's opinion as to the_wisdom of music being chosen as his profession. The old Italian was a proverb for cutting sarcasm, and none were safe from his merciless snubbings. Halevy, Auber, and Berlioz had one and all experience of a temper which, if assumed, was in any case a trying ordeal for the many musical aspirants to fame who came to consult the oracle, and were generally sent away with a flea in their ears. That Cherubini should have thawed into graciousness on the first hearing of Mendelssohn's B Minor quartette is certainly one of Mendelssohn's least known but most legitimate triumphs. Cherubini, when the performance finished, addressed a party of delighted connoisseurs thus: "Ce garçon est riche; il fera bien; il fait même déjà bien, mais il dépense trop de son argent, il met trop d'étoffe dans son habit." As a remedy against this over-tailoring the old man added: "Je lui parlerai, alors il fera bien. Not only could Felix well afford to dispense with any admonitions from the famous but superannuated maestro, but he took accurate measure of the unequal powers shown in the "Medea" and the "Deux Journées " as compared with the feebler works of Cherubini's last year: "He is like a burnt-out volcano, which sputters occasionally, but is covered all over with ashes and stones." And Zelter, far from reproving his pupil's ironical parody of Cherubini's style in a kyrie written by Felix when he was at Paris, remarked: "The brave lad has written the piece ironically, in a spirit which, although not correct, is still the very one Cherubini has been always looking for, and, if I mistake not, has never found." Felix was vexed at the utter dearth of musical earnestness in Paris. Kalkbrenner and Herz dissatisfied him as piano-forte players; and he wrote of Auber's opera "Léocadie," "Such a miserable production I should scarcely have thought possible. You wrote to me, Fanny, that I should set up as a proselytizer, and teach Onslow and Reicha to love Beethoven and Sebastian Bach. But just reflect, dear; people here don't know a note of Fidelio,' and regard Sebastian Bach as an old gentleman with a peruque stuffed with learning," etc.

Felix, after a stay of nearly three months in Paris, visited Goethe for the third time at Weimar; but his old friend failed to detain him for any length of time, and bemoaned in a letter to Zelter the hurried nature of Felix's visit. Goethe, however, was pleased to be remembered by his grateful protége, who dedicated his " Quartette in B Minor to his patron, and received the following letter in acknowledgment:

“You have given me great pleasure, my dear Felix, by your weighty consignment; although previously announced, the printing of the music, the title-page, the magnificent binding, all vie with each other in giving splendor and finish to your gift. I regard it as a well-shaped body, with the lovely, stirring soul of which you make me acquainted.

"Receive my best thanks, and let me hope you will soon give me another opportunity of admiring your extraordinary powers of action. Remember me to your excellent parents, your equally gifted sister, and excellent tutor. May my memory be forever vivid in such a circle. Yours truly, J. W. GOETHE."

Another present was sent to Goethe, and one more in the poet's own way than an elaborate instrumental quartette. This was a metrical translation by Felix of the "Andria" of Terence, recognized by Goethe as "a noble example of earnest æsthetic studies, which will be an especial delight to the connoisseurs of Weimar in the long winter evenings that will soon be upon us." The memorable event in Mendelssohn's career, of his first introduction of Bach's "Passion" music, was not forgotten by Goethe. "I fancy I hear the sea roaring from afar. You have my wish for all success in a perfect performance of what is almost unpresentable. I heartily congratulate you on what you have lived to see in Felix. Amongst my many pupils I have had but few who have turned out so well."

In 1830 Felix, before starting on his travels to Italy, returned to the now familiar friend to beg a blessing, and give and receive instruction. The conversations and daily interviews with Goethe were amongst the most valued of Mendelssohn's memories. Socially as well as musically Felix was worth his salt. "He is so clear on all subjects," Goethe remarked to Ottilia, " that I can't help learning a great deal from him."

Hengstenberg, Spontini, Hegel's Esthetics, and Scott's Novels were discussed, not to mention personal reminiscences of Schiller and the memorable years of the golden age of Weimar. "These were conversations," said Felix, "one can never forget as long as one lives." His payment for this feast of soul was a daily performance of music carefully selected and arranged from masters of the Bach epoch down to the time of Mendelssohn himself. Whilst he played "Goethe sat in a dark corner, like Jupiter Tonans, his old eyes flashing on me." The visit lasted a whole fortnight, and it was with a sorrowful heart that the old man took leave of his favorite, giving him as a parting present a manuscript sheet of "Faust," with the inscription: "To my dear young friend, F. M. B., the mighty but delicate master of the piano, in memory of happy May days, 1830.-J. W. O. Goethe." In a letter to Zelter, Goethe relates his impressions of this memorable visit :

"The excellent Felix hast just started. He has the brightest of skies and most lovely sunshine. Ottilia, Ulrike, and the children accompany him to Jena. We have had a delightful fortnight together. At Jena as well as here he will charm his friends and sympathizers, and he has left behind a memory which will be a continued source of joy and triumph. His presence was especially beneficial to myself, for I found that my relation to music is always the same; I hear it with pleasure, I sympathize with it and reflect upon it afterwards. I prefer it in historical order, for who can understand any artistic revelation, if he be not penetrated with a sense of the regular march and order of musical events? The main point was that Felix most laudably recognizes and understands this process of illustrating music in chronological order, and fortunately his excellent memory enables him to play pieces of all kinds just as he chooses. Beginning with the Bach epoch he has brought to life for me Haydn, Mozart, and Gluck, given me ideas of the new technicalities in modern music, and lastly made me feel and reflect upon his own productions. In consequence of all this I gave him my blessing when he left me."

In the midst of his numerous engagements Felix found time to correspond with the Geheimrath, who sent him through Ottilia a pressing request to write. "My father bids me say that your visit not only gave him great pleasure, but has been of lasting benefit, as you have cleared up many points for him."

From Munich we have an excellent letter from Mendels

sohn to Goethe, in which, after criticising some painted illustrations of the poet's works by Bavarian artists, he contrasts the difference of the musical audiences at Berlin and Munich:

"In Berlin, when a piece of music is over, the whole company remains seated in solemn silence; each listener is searching for

some criticism; there is no sign of applause or enthusiasm of any kind, and the performer is in the most painful state of embarrassment to know the effect of his playing on the mind of his hearers, or indeed if any effect at all has been made. He often discovers afterwards that those who seemed cold and indifferent have really been deeply and powerfully moved. At Munich, on the contrary, it is very amusing to play in society, for every moment people give immediate utterance to their feelings directly they are touched, and it is no uncommon event to find, after leaving the seat at the piano, that every one has moved from the place he occupied at the beginning of the performance, from a wish to get near the piano, and watch the fingering, or for communicating with some personal friend amongst the audience. After all is over, one is loaded with compliments and professions of friendship, but I am afraid that after a day or two all these vivid impressions fade into nothingness."

Readers of Mendelssohn's letters will remember the admirable description of the music in the Sistine Chapel, the election of the new Pope, and a variety of subjects, touched with the delicacy and refinement of one whose whole life, from the cradle to the grave, was passed in the companionship of the most cultivated and intellectual men of his time. So satisfied were both Goethe and Zelter of the importance of Mendelssohn's travels, that the former was exceedingly indignant with the musician's father for forbidding Felix to travel in Sicily, after leaving Rome: "Italy without Sicily leaves no perfect impression on the soul. Der Herr Papa is very wrong in not sending Felix to Sicily."

It was in Italy that Mendelssohn finished the glorious music to Goethe's "Walpurgisnacht," and played it over to Mozart's son, whose acquaintance he made at Milan. Goethe was so delighted to hear that the pupil had undertaken a task which Zelter had abandoned in despair, that he sketched out for the composer a plan of his meaning, conveyed in language so mystical, that whether it threw any light on the musician's more simple interpretation may well be doubted. In Switzerland Mendelssohn corresponded with Goethe on the inundations, destruction of bridges, etc., which were matters of constant occurrence in the Bernese Oberland. Goethe was as fond of watching the weather as Murphy himself, and based his prophecies of changes on much sounder data.

[ocr errors]

It was in Paris that Mendelssohn heard of Goethe's death. "The news of the loss of Goethe makes me poor again! was the remark made by him in a letter to his parents, and there can be no doubt that he owed to both the poet and the poet's friend, Zelter, much of that earnestness, scholarship, and refinement which his two friends combined so assiduously to watch and cultivate. Dr. Karl Mendelssohn has done well to publish the history of his father's childhood, which to inquirers on the subject entailed the somewhat dreary task of selecting from the three bulky volumes of Zelter's correspondence with Goethe the particular letters affecting the early life of the illustrious musician.

[blocks in formation]

HARRY TRELYON had a cousin named Juliott Penaluna, who lived at Penzance with her father, an irascible old clergyman, who, while yet a poor curate, had the good fortune to marry Mrs. Trelyon's sister. Miss Juliott was a handsome, healthy, English-looking girl, with blue eyes and brown hair, frank enough in her ways, fairly well-read, fond of riding and driving, and very specially fond of her cousin. There had never been any concealment about that. Master Harry, too, liked his cousin in a way, as he showed by his rudeness to her; but he used plainly to tell her that he would not marry her; whereupon she would be angry with him for his impertinence, and end by begging him to be good friends again. At last she went, as her mother had done before her, and encouraged the attentions of a fair, blue-eyed, pensive young curate, who was full of beautiful enthusiasms and idealisms, in which he sought to interest the mind of this

« ПредишнаНапред »