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This need of clear intellectual mastery over the raw material of his thoughts is very characteristic of Mendelssohn. Another trait which these letters bring out with equal force is his quick apprehension of the special character of the men, the scenery, or the literature, which fell under his notice. At the Pitti Palace, "the thick solid stems of the myrtles and laurels, and the innumerable cypresses, made a strange exotic impression" on him; and at Naples, the full southern beauty of Italy was a dream of enchantment to him, though the misery of the people and the languor of the climate were considerable drawbacks thereupon. Switzerland, with its keen mountain air and wild grandeur, seems to have delighted him more than any other country, and while there he was always thanking God "for having created so much that is beautiful." His stay in Paris brings out another phase of his mind,-his deep repugnance to French morals, and his dislike to most French art. (His criticism on "La Parisienne" is particularly good.) And his appreciation of the best characteristics of English society is manifested, not only in the few letters from London which close the volume, but in many passing remarks scattered here and there, which might almost have been written by an Englishman.

But valuable as are these indications of character, the chief interest of the book lies in the glimpses it affords of Mendelssohn's own mental history, of which we must now speak in some detail. Up to the time of his commencing this tour, sacred music had not been prominent in his compositions, but at this period it seems to have gradually begun to gain upon him. He says, indeed (p. 207), that it was then "quite as much a necessity to me as the impulse that often induces people to study some particular book, the Bible, or others, as the only reading they care for at the time." While in Vienna, on his way to Italy, he wrote his exquisite Ave Maria, in which the tenor solo was intended for his friend Mantius. From several passages in the Letters, it is clear that the character of the Virgin had a great charm for Mendelssohn. The floating beauty of this hymn seems like an anticipation of the glorified Madonnas which so fascinated him in Italy, and it doubtless sprang from the same ideal in his own mind. He wrote another work in a somewhat similar style while at Rome,-the three Treble Motetts for the nuns of the Trinità de' Monti,† a composition of whose origin he gives an amusing account. The inspiriting

His remarks on the St. Simonians, whose perverted morality and pseudophilanthropy greatly disgusted him, are particularly interesting, as illustrating the instinctive and vigorous purity of his moral principles, and the freedom of his religious faith. See pp. 326-27, 331, of the Letters.

† Published in England by Novello, to words adapted from the Psalms by T. A. Walmisley.

movement at the opening of the "Laudate pueri," and the tender grace of the "Surrexit pastor," render these Motetts among the most finished of their author's minor pieces. But simultaneously with these and other Roman Catholic compositions, he was occupied with works of the most intensely Protestant colour. While at Vienna a friend made him a present of Luther's hymns; and he was so much struck by their power, that he composed music for many of them. Only one or two of these have been published in England. The only one we have seen is "Mitten wir im Leben sind"* (In the midst of life we are in death), a double chorale of a grand and solemn character, which he speaks of in the Letters as "one of the best sacred pieces which I have yet composed." We next obtain an insight into his views on sacred music in general from his letters describing the ceremonies and services at Rome in the Holy Week. He speaks of them as "a perfect totality, which has exercised the most powerful influence for centuries past, and still exercises it; and therefore I reverence it, as I do every species of real perfection." "That man must be despicable indeed on whom the devotion and reverence of a vast assemblage did not make a corresponding impression of devotion and reverence, even if they were worshipping the Golden Calf; let him alone destroy this, who can replace it by something better." Nevertheless, it was not in Mendelssohn's nature to be other than critical on the conventionalisms and puerilities which frequently lowered the tone of the musical services. In a long letter to his old master, Zelter, he gives a series of specimen passages written down from ear, representing the more important parts of the singing, and after the passage, "Pater, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum," he comments thus:

"I cannot help it, but I own it does irritate me to hear such holy and touching words sung to such dull, drawling music. They say it is canto fermo, Gregorian, &c. ; no matter. If at that period there was neither the feeling nor the capability to write in a different style, at all events we have now the power to do so; and certainly this mechanical monotony is not to be found in the Scriptural words; they are all truth and freshness, and moreover expressed in the most simple and natural manner. Why, then, make them sound like a mere formula? and, in truth, such singing as this is nothing more. The word 'Pater' with a little flourish, the 'meum' with a little shake, the 'ut quid me,'-can this be called sacred music? There is certainly no false expression in it, because there is none of any kind; but does not this very fact prove the desecration of the words? A hundred times during the ceremony I was driven wild by such things as these; and

*The readers of Miss Winkworth's Lyra Germanica (vol. i.) will remember the interesting tradition attached to this hymn.

then came people in a state of ecstasy, saying how splendid it had all been. This sounded to me like a bad joke; and yet they were quite in earnest. . . . One of the two following modes ought to be adopted. The 'Passion' ought to be recited quietly by the priest as St. John relates it, in which case there is no occasion for the chorus to sing 'Crucifige eum,' nor for the alt to represent Pilate ; or else the scene should be so thoroughly realised, that it ought to make me feel as if I were actually present, and saw it all myself. In that event, Pilate ought to sing just as he would have spoken, the chorus shout out 'Crucifige' in a tone any thing but sacred; and then, through the impress of entire truth, and the dignity of the object represented, the singing would become sacred church music. I require no under-current of thought when I hear music, which is not to me a mere medium to elevate the mind to piety,' as they say here, but a distinct language speaking plainly to me; for though the sense is expressed by the words, it is equally contained in the music. This is the case with the Passion' of Sebastian Bach; but as they sing it here, it is very imperfect, being neither a simple narrative, nor yet a grand solemn dramatic truth. The chorus sings 'Barabbam to the same sacred chords as 'et in terra pax.' Pilate speaks exactly the same as the Evangelist. The voice that represents our blessed Saviour commences always piano, in order to have one definite distinction; but when the chorus breaks loose, shouting out their sacred chords, it seems entirely devoid of meaning. Pray forgive these strictures" (pp. 182-4).

Those who are familiar with the dramatic appropriateness and spiritual beauty of Mendelssohn's own Oratorios, need no book to tell them that such must have been his conceptions of the musical representation of sacred history; but there is an indescribable satisfaction in knowing that he actually expressed them in words. Side by side with his religious compositions we find him working at one of the most celebrated of his dramatic works, the Walpurgis Night, which he began and finished during this tour, though it was entirely recast fourteen years later, previous to publication. His first conception of it is described in a letter to his sister Fanny, as follows:

"Listen, and wonder! Since I left Vienna I have partly composed Goethe's first Walpurgis Nacht, but have not yet had courage to write it down. The composition has now assumed a form, and become a grand cantata, with full orchestra, and may turn out well. At the opening there are songs of Spring, &c., and plenty of others of the same kind. Afterwards, when the watchmen, with their Gabeln und Zacken und Eulen,' make a great noise, the fairy frolics begin, and you know that I have a particular foible for them; the sacrificial Druids then appear, with their trombones in C major, when the watchmen come in again in alarm, and here I mean to introduce a light, mysterious, tripping chorus; and lastly, to conclude with a grand sacrificial hymn. Do you not think that this might develop into a new style of cantata? I have

an instrumental introduction, as a matter of course; and the effect of the whole is very spirited."

Later we come to his speculations as to the treatment of one or two points in the piece. Shall he introduce the big drum or not? "I feel confident that Fanny would say yes; "but moderation dissuades me." At last it is finished, and "the hobgoblins and the bearded Druid, with the trombones sounding behind him, diverted me immensely, and so I passed two forenoons very happily." And finally, he thus describes his own impression of the cantata in a letter to Edward Devrient :

"I have written a grand piece of music, which will probably impress the public at large-the first Walpurgis Nacht of Goethe. I began it simply because it pleased me, and inspired me with fervour, and never thought that it was to be performed; but now that it lies finished before me, I see that it is quite suitable for a great concert-stück, and you must sing the bearded pagan priest at my first subscription concert in Berlin. I wrote it expressly to suit your voice; and as I have hitherto found that the pieces I have composed with least reference to the public are precisely those which gave them the greatest satisfaction, so no doubt it will be on this occasion also. I only mention this to prove to you that I do not neglect the practical. To be sure, this is invariably an after-thought; for who the deuce could write music, the most unpractical thing in the world,--the very reason why I love it so dearly, and yet think all the time of the practical ?"

These brief passages will be read with much interest by Mendelssohn's admirers, not only as conveying his own thoughts on one of his most popular compositions, but as throwing a welcome light upon his character. With all the completeness of artistic training which kept him scrupulously faithful to the actual capacities of voices and instruments, he yet, in his simplicity, "never thought that the piece was to be performed," and when anxious to prove to his friend that he "did not neglect the practical," he could not help adding, "to be sure, this is invariably an after-thought." It was doubtless this singular combination of unworldliness and common sense which kept him from being spoiled by the admiration to which he was so constantly exposed. To him art was ever its own perfect reward; all the rest was "invariably an after-thought."

Those who are versed in Mendelssohn's music must have been struck with the excellence of the poetry to which it is always allied. These Letters illustrate the negative side of the fact, and tell us somewhat of the poems which he rejected as unsuitable. His relative, Madame Pereira, had requested him to set to music for her a descriptive poem called the "Nächt

liche Heerschau;"* and he writes in reply, explaining why he does not think it suitable for music. The letter is not only interesting as a piece of acute poetical criticism, but as containing his musical confession of faith. "I take music in a very serious light, and I consider it quite inadmissible to compose any thing that I do not thoroughly feel. It is just as if I were to utter a falsehood; for notes have as distinct a meaning as words, perhaps even a more definite sense." This chariness, this superiority to "the allurements of accidental suggestion,' was probably the saving force that kept Mendelssohn's strength from being exhausted in its early bloom. Considering the immense quantity of compositions which flowed from him during his short life, it would seem that nothing but this strong instinct of repulsion from what was beneath him could have preserved his fertile genius for the sphere that really belonged to it. In relation to this phase of his development, we have two letters to his friend Edward Devrient, in which he explains the purposes of his life, so far as he was then able to discern them. The dramatic tendencies of his genius drew him towards the opera, and Devrient, himself a singer and actor, was anxious to hasten him in that direction. But Mendelssohn's restraining "daimon" bade him pause till he could see the inward light upon his path. He thus writes to his friend:

"You reproach me with being two-and-twenty without having yet acquired fame. To this I can only reply, had it been the will of Providence that I should be renowned at the age of two-and-twenty, I no doubt should have been so. I cannot help it, for I no more write to gain a name than to obtain a Kapellmeister's place. It would be a good thing if I could secure both. But so long as I do not actually starve, so long is it my duty to write only as I feel, and according to what is in my heart, and to leave the result to Him who disposes of other and greater matters. Every day, however, I am more sincerely anxious to write exactly as I feel, and to have even less regard than ever to external views; and when I have composed a piece just as it sprang from my heart, then I have done my duty towards it; and whether it brings hereafter fame, honour, decorations, or snuff-boxes, &c., is a matter of indifference to me. If you mean, however, that Í have neglected, or delayed perfecting myself or my compositions, then I beg you will distinctly and clearly say in what respect and wherein I have done so. This would be indeed a serious reproach. You wish me to write operas, and think I am unwise not to have done so long ago. I answer, Place a right libretto in my hand, and in two months the work shall be completed; for every day I feel more eager to write

*This letter will be doubly interesting to those English readers who recognise in the "Nächtliche Heerschau" the spectral poem by Baron Zedlitz, which was set to music by Neukomm, and published in England by Cramer, about thirty years ago, under the title of " Napoleon's Midnight Review."

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