By ROGER NICHOLS
faber and faber
Copyright © 1997 Roger Nichols. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-571-17861-8
Chapter One
EARLY YEARS; GOETHE;
ST MATTHEW PASSION
EDUARD DEVRIENT
(1801-1877)
German theatre historian, librettist and baritone. He sang the part of Christus in Mendelssohn's performances of the St Matthew Passion in 1829, but lost his voice some years later through overwork. He was a noted theatrical historian and reformer and was Director of the Karlsruhe Court Theatre from 1852 to 1870.
He first met Mendelssohn in January 1822:
I had seen the boy occasionally, — his long brown curls had attracted my notice as he trudged sturdily through the streets in his big shoes, holding his father's hand. Of late years I had often noticed him, when on my accustomed way to my betrothed, busily playing at marbles or touchwood with other boys before the door of his grandmother's house on the new Promenade. I had heard in musical circles of the extraordinary talents of the boy, had seen him at the Singakademie, at Zelter's Friday practices, and had met him at a musical party, where he took his place amongst the grown-up people, in his child's dress — a tight-fitting jacket, cut very low at the neck, and over which the wide trousers were buttoned; into the slanting pockets of these the little fellow liked to thrust his hands, rocking his curly head from side to side, and shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. With half-closed eyelids, beneath which flashed his bright brown eyes, he would almost defiantly, and with a slight lisp, jerk out his answers to the inquisitive and searching questions that people usually address to young prodigies. His technical command of the pianoforte, and musicianly way of playing, struck me then as surprising, but still inferior to that of his elder sister Fanny, and compositions, even little operas of the child, were talked of.
Considering the wealth ascribed to Felix's father, the house gave an impression of studied plainness: the walls and furniture were of extreme simplicity, but the drawing-room was decorated with engravings of the Loggie of Raphael. The singers sat round the large dining-table, and close to the grand piano, raised on a high cushion, sat Felix, grave and unembarrassed, leading and directing us with an ardour as if it had been a game he was playing with his comrades.
That so many grown people should be troubling themselves about compositions of his, seemed to impress him much less than that this was his second operetta, and that he was actually engaged upon a third. He was there for the sole purpose of hearing and performing the music, and he took for granted that it was the same with us. It struck us the very first evening how weak selfconsciousness and vanity were in his nature, in comparison with emulation, and the determination of thoroughly mastering whatever he undertook. When the little work had been tried through, his first thought was carefully to collect the parts and place them in order; this he did before he would take any notice of our admiring comments on the work. These he received pleasantly enough, but preferred to lead off the conversation to questions or explanations on the details of performance.
The mother, a highly-cultivated and intelligent woman as well as an active housewife, ever occupied either in reading or some domestic duty, kept the children to their work with inflexible energy. The unceasing activity of Felix, which became a necessity of life with him, is no doubt to be ascribed to early habit. He must have often wearied of his tasks at the mother's feet, by Rebecka's little table. If I called in the forenoon upon the mother, and he came with his lunch into the front room, during which he was allowed to quit his work, and we happened to chat longer than the bread-and-butter rendered necessary, the mother's curt exclamation, `Felix, are you doing nothing?' quickly drove him away into the back room.
But it was easy to perceive that the most important influence upon the son's development was the father. Abraham Mendelssohn was a remarkable man, in whose mental and spiritual being life was reflected with singular clearness. His thoughts and feelings led him to find the highest satisfactions in the intellect. This was natural in the Jewish-born son of the philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, but to me, then in the age of religious effervescence, this did not become clear till later in life, and by degrees; his sound and certain judgment, however, impressed me even then. The conviction that our life is given us for work, for usefulness, and constant striving — this conviction Felix inherited from his father.
Towards the end of the summer of 1825, the Mendelssohn family moved into a larger house in the Leipziger Strasse in Berlin:
In the new house Felix entered upon his young manhood, with freshly awakened powers and inclinations. With his usual energy and ardour he now devoted himself to gymnastic exercises. The father had a small gymnasium fitted up for his sons in the large and beautiful garden of the house. Felix attained the greatest perfection in these exercises, and was able to keep them up for a long time. He took great pleasure, too, in his riding-lessons, and used to have much to tell about the horses, and of the jokes of the old royal riding-master, which I already knew. Swimming was practised during the ensuing summer with intense enjoyment. A small swimming society had been formed; Klingemann, who lived at the Hanoverian Embassy, which was in an upper story of the Mendelssohns' house, belonged to this society; he wrote the words of swimming-songs, to which Felix composed the music, and these the members tried to sing as they were swimming about.
Eduard Devrient: Meine Erinnerungen an Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Leipzig, 1869; Eng. tr. Natalia Macfarren, London, 1869), pp. 1-5, 8-9, 20-21 (with cuts)
SIR JULIUS BENEDICT
(1804-1885)
Benedict was an English composer and conductor of German birth and a pupil of Hummel and Weber. From 1835 he lived in London and in 1848 conducted Elijah there, with Jenny Lind making her first oratorio appearance. He was knighted in 1871.
My first meeting with Felix took place under such peculiar circumstances, that I may, perhaps, be permitted to enter into some particulars about it.
It was in the beginning of May, 1821, when, walking in the streets of Berlin with my master and friend, Carl Maria Von Weber, he directed my attention to a boy, apparently about eleven or twelve years old, who, on perceiving the author of Freischütz, ran towards him, giving him a most hearty and friendly greeting.
`'Tis Felix Mendelssohn,' said Weber; introducing me at once to the prodigious child, of whose marvellous talent and execution I had already heard so much at Dresden. I shall never forget the impression of that day on beholding that beautiful youth, with his auburn hair clustering in ringlets round his shoulders, the look of his brilliant clear eyes, and the smile of innocence and candour on his lips. He would have it that we should go with him at once to his father's house; but as Weber had to attend a rehearsal, he took me by the hand, and made me run a race till we reached his home. Up he went briskly to the drawing-room, where, finding his mother, he exclaimed, `Here is a pupil of Weber's, who knows a great deal of his music of the new opera. Pray, mamma, ask him to play it for us;' and so, with an irresistible impetuosity, he pushed me to the pianoforte, and made me remain there until I had exhausted all the store of my recollections. When I then begged of him to let me hear some of his own compositions, he refused, but played from MEMORY such of Bach's fugues or Cramer's exercises as I could name. At last we parted — not without a promise to meet again. On my very next visit I found him seated on a footstool, before a small table, writing with great earnestness some music. On my asking what he was about, he replied, gravely, `I am finishing my new Quartet for piano and stringed instruments.'
I could not resist my own boyish curiosity to examine this composition, and, looking over his shoulder, saw as beautiful a score as if it had been written by the most skilful copyist. It was his first Quartet in C minor, published afterwards as Opus I.
But whilst I was lost in admiration and astonishment at beholding the work of a master written by the hand of a boy, all at once he sprang up from his seat, and, in his playful manner, ran to the pianoforte, performing note for note all the music from Freischütz, which three or four days previously he had heard me play, and asking, `How do you like this chorus?' `What do you think of this air?' `Do you not admire this overture?' and so on. Then, forgetting quartets and Weber, down we went into the garden, he clearing high hedges with a leap, running, singing, or climbing up the trees like a squirrel — the very image of health and happiness.
Sir Julius Benedict: A Sketch of the Life and Works of the Late Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (London, 1850), pp. 7-9
JULIUS SCHUBRING
(1806-1889)
Schubring came to Berlin in 1825 to study theology at the University. In 1832 Mendelssohn engaged his help in preparing the libretto of his first oratorio, St Paul; Schubring also collaborated on Elijah.
That the boy Felix should not go to school, but be taught, partly with his sisters and partly alone, was quite in keeping with his peculiarly reserved and gentle nature, and advanced him the more quickly, because it enabled him to enter more deeply into the subject taught, and developed uninterruptedly his character. On the other hand, however, I think I perceive in this fact the reason of his feeling easily offended and out of sorts, and of his never being altogether at home in general society. The softness of his disposition, never having been hardened, could not easily overcome disagreeable impressions. Perhaps this susceptibility might have been lessened had he, when young, gone through something of the rough training to be obtained among a number of schoolfellows.
Julius Schubring: `Reminiscences of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy', Musical World, 31 (12 and 19 May 1866); reprinted in Mendelssohn and his World, ed. R. Larry Todd (Princeton, 1991), p. 223
LEA MENDELSSOHN
(1777-1842)
Born Lea Salomon, she married Abraham Mendelssohn in December 1804. They made their home in Hamburg, moving to Berlin in 1812.
Letter to her sister-in-law, Henrietta Mendelssohn, Berlin, 1821 `Just fancy that the little wretch is to have the good luck of going to Weimar with Zelter for a short time. He wants to show him to Goethe, and is to take him there next week after they have been to the exhibition of Schadow's picture of Luther at Wittenberg. You can imagine what it costs me to part from the dear child, even for a few weeks. But I consider it such an advantage for him to be introduced to Goethe; to live under the same roof with him, and enjoy the blessing of so great a man. I am also glad of this little journey as a change for him; for his impulsiveness sometimes makes him work harder than he ought to at his age.'
Lea Mendelssohn, quoted in Carl Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: Goethe und Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Leipzig, 1871; Eng. tr. M.E. von Glehn, London, 1872), pp. 4-5
RUDOLF VON BEYER
Rudolf von Beyer, a very young pupil of Zelter's, tells in his memoirs of a rehearsal of Handel's Athalia at the Singakademie in which he was to play the viola solos together with the even younger Mendelssohn. `You can rely on Felix,' the old virtuoso Casper had reassured him, `he'll come to your aid if anything goes awry.'
Through the hall strode a large, broad-shouldered man with carelessly powdered hair. He gave a very dignified, rather unapproachable impression in his blue tail-coat with shiny buttons, dazzling white cravat and perfect flowery piqué waistcoat, which only half concealed a soberly pleated ruffle. With a somewhat shuffling gait and dispensing easy greetings right and left to the members of the Akadamie, he went to the fortepiano and struck a chord of A with his gout-twisted fingers: it was Karl Friedrich Zelter. All the instruments seemed to be in haste to get in tune.
A boy, as pretty as a picture, with a noble, unforgettable face, dark, flowing locks and the large, deep eyes of genius into which a benevolent Creator had laid the heaven of his grace, made his way nimbly towards his viola. All eyes turned to him. There was no posing, nothing of the `boy prodigy' about him: the modesty of his behaviour only emphasized his radiant appearance. Even the solemn man at the keyboard allowed an expression of satisfaction to play over his features. And in his heart he must have felt pride in his pupil. The boy quickly picked up his instrument and in a moment was ready; the director gave the signal to begin and the wonderful overture sounded forth.
My bowing was uncertain. My eyes were glued to the note-heads, which soon began to dance. `You there, on the viola, you must have more spirit,' Zelter shouted at me. The finely modelled, expressive mouth of my partner smiled, and he gave me an encouraging look.
Rudolf von Beyer, quoted in Hans Gerhard Weiss: Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: ein Lebensbild ... (Berlin, 1947), pp. 30-31
KARL AUGUST VARNHAGEN VON
ENSE
(1785-1858)
In one middle-sized town, I can't remember which, there suddenly started up, for no good reason, a wild anti-Jewish clamour. With the wild yell of `Hep, Hep!', individuals were assaulted and followed in the streets, their homes attacked and partly plundered, and abuse and violence of all kinds used on them. But no blood was shed — that was where the courage or the ill-nature of the malefactors ended. As fast as the rumour spread of this extreme behaviour, so did the behaviour itself, like a burning flame or an infectious Saint Virus' dance. The violence was accompanied by a heedless mockery and pleasure in making mischief; one royal prince jovially shouted `Hep, hep!' after the boy Felix Mendelssohn in the street. Not all of this was done with malicious intent, and some of those who shouted like that would, if necessary, have come to the Jews' assistance if things had gone any further.
Karl August Varnhagen von Ense: Denkwürdigkeiten und vermischte Schriften, (Leipzig, 1859), IX, pp. 614-15
CARL FRIEDRICH ZELTER
(1758-1832)
After training as a mason, he turned to music and became Director of the Berlin Singakademie in 1800. He also founded a training orchestra and the Liedertafel, the prototype of the nineteenth-century male voice choir. As well as Mendelssohn, Loewe and Meyerbeer were among his pupils.
Letter to Goethe, Berlin, 11 March 1823
My Felix has entered upon his fifteenth year. He grows under my very eyes. His wonderful pianoforte playing I may consider as quite a thing apart. He might also become a great violin player. The second act of his fourth opera is finished. In everything he gains, and even force and power are now hardly wanting; everything comes from within him, and the external things of the day only affect him externally. Imagine my joy, if we survive, to see the boy living in the fulfilment of all that his childhood gives promise of!
Letter to Goethe, Berlin, 8 February 1824
Yesterday we gave a complete performance, with dialogue, of Felix's fourth opera. There are three acts and two ballets, filling up about an hour and a half. The work met with a very favourable reception. I cannot get over my astonishment at the enormous strides which this boy of fifteen makes. Novelty, beauty, individuality, originality, all alike are to be found in him, — genius, fluency, repose, harmony, completeness, dramatic power, and the solidity of an experienced hand. His instrumentation is interesting; not overpowering or fatiguing, and yet not mere accompaniment. The musicians like playing his music, and yet it is not exactly easy. Now and then a familiar idea comes and passes on again, not as if borrowed, but, on the contrary, fit and proper for its place. Gaiety, spirit without flurry, tenderness, finish, love, passion, and innocence. — The Overture is a singular thing. Imagine a painter flinging a dab of colour on his canvas and then working it about with fingers and brushes till at last a group emerges, and you look at it with fresh wonder, and only see that it must be true because there it is. No doubt I am talking like an old grandfather bent on spoiling his grandchild. But I know what I say, and say nothing which I can't prove. And my first proof is public approval, especially that of the players and singers; because it is easy to discover whether their fingers and throats are set in motion by coldness and ill-will, or love and pleasure. You must surely understand this. Just as a writer who speaks to the heart is sure to please, so is a composer who gives the player something which he can not only play and enjoy himself, but make others enjoy too. This speaks for itself. — I may hope that you will take my account of Felix's progress as grist to my own mill.
Letter to Goethe, Berlin, 6 November 1825
He takes his time by the ears, and has his own way with it. A few weeks ago he gave his excellent tutor Heyse a most pleasant birthday present — namely, Terence's `Andria' translated entirely by himself in metre; and it seems that there are some very good lines in it, but I have not yet seen it. He plays the piano like fury, and isn't backward at stringed instruments; and with all that he is strong and healthy, and can swim against the stream like anything.
They have reviewed his quartetts and symphonies somewhat coldly in the musical paper, but it won't hurt him; for these reviewers are themselves but young fellows looking for the very hat they hold in their hands.
If one did not remember how Gluck and Mozart were criticised forty years ago, one might lose heart. Things that are completely above the heads of these gentlemen, they cut up as coolly as possible, and fancy they can judge the whole house by one brick. And what I especially give him credit for, is the way in which he works at everything as a whole and with his whole might; and finishes whatever he begins, let it turn out as it will; and he therefore seldom shows any special affection for the finished things. Of course one now and then finds a little heterogeneous material, but it gets carried away by the stream, and ordinary faults and weaknesses are rare.
Letter to Goethe, Berlin, 20 February 1827
My Felix has accepted an engagement at Stettin to perform his latest works there, and set off on the 16th. The dear boy attained his nineteenth year on the 3rd of this month, and his productions gain in ripeness and originality. His last opera, which occupies a whole evening, has been promised at the Theatre Royal for more than a year, but has not yet managed to see the light; whereas all manner of French trash and rubbish gets put on the boards, and hardly survives a second representation. As we are young and able to stand against all the prejudices which embitter the best part of the lives of so many other people, it cannot do us much harm; but I do wish that with all his industry he may as quickly as possible grow out of this time of ours, for one has to be civil to it, whether one likes it or not; and in this I could still be of use to him, by making him lean more and more on himself.
In the summer of 1827, Felix matriculated at the Berlin university, and attended the lectures of Gans, Ritter, Lichtenstein and Hegel.
Letter to Goethe, Berlin, summer 1827
Hegel is just giving a course of lectures on music; Felix writes them out thoroughly well, but, like a rogue, manages to introduce all Hegel's personal peculiarities in the most naïve manner.
Carl Friedrich Zelter, quoted in Carl Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: Goethe und Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Leipzig, 1871; Eng. tr. M.E. von Glehn, London, 1872), pp. 39-41, 56-9 (with cuts)
EDUARD DEVRIENT
Even the parents of Felix, who were nothing loth to see so important an event as the revival of the `Passion' inaugurated by their son, felt doubtful as to the result. Marx hesitated, and the old ladies of the Academy shook their heads. Felix so utterly disbelieved that it could be done that he replied to my entreaties, and those of the still more zealous enthusiasts, Baur, Schubring, and Kugler, only with jest and irony. He offered to give a public performance on a rattle and penny-trumpet, described the different phases through which the undertaking would have to pass, in the most ludicrous way, and absurdly pictured the temerity it would be in him to attempt to move Berlin out of its time-honoured groove, without credentials and the insignia of office. So hopeless seemed the chance of reviving this wondrous work, after having lain buried for a century, even amongst its truest worshippers.
* * *
I could not let the matter rest. One evening in January, 1829, after we had gone through the first part, Baur singing the `Evangelist' and Kugler the principal bass, and we had all gone home profoundly impressed, a sleepless night brought me counsel as to how a performance might be brought about. I waited impatiently for the late day to dawn; Theresa encouraged me, and so I set forth to see Felix. He was still asleep. I was going away, when Paul suggested that it was quite time to wake him; so we went up, and Paul commenced the operation. I found, on this occasion, that Felix had not exaggerated what he told me about his death-like sleep. Paul took hold of him under the arms and raised him, calling out, `Wake, Felix, it is eight o'clock.' He shook him, but it was some time before Felix said, dreamily, `Oh! leave off — I always said so — it is all nonsense---;' but his brother continued to shake him and call out to him until he knew that Felix was roused, when he let him fall back on the pillow. At last Felix opened his eyes wide, and, perceiving me, said in his usual pleasant way, `Why, Edeward, where do you come from?' I now told him that I had something to say to him. Paul took me to Felix's little workroom, where, on the large white writing-table, his breakfast was waiting, while his coffee stood on the stove.
When he came in I told him to make a good breakfast, and not to interrupt me too often. With excellent humour and capital appetite he went at it, and I now roundly told him that during the night I had determined to have the `Passion' publicly given, and that in the course of the next few months, before his intended journey to England.
He laughed. `And who is going to conduct?'
`You.'
`The d---I am!' My contribution is going to be---'
`Leave me alone with your penny trumpets! I am not jesting now, and have thoroughly considered the matter.'
`Upon my word, you are growing solemn. Well, let us hear.'
(Continues...)
Excerpted from MENDELSSOHN REMEMBERED by ROGER NICHOLS. Copyright © 1997 by Roger Nichols. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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