Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

Sargans, September 3rd, noon.

Wretched weather! it has rained all night, and all the morning too, and the cold as severe as in winter; deep snow is lying on the adjacent hills. There has been again a tremendous inundation in Appenzell, which has done the greatest damage, and destroyed all the roads. At the Lake of Zurich, there are numbers of pilgrimages, and processions, on account of the weather. I was obliged to drive here this morning, as all the footpaths were covered with mud and water. I shall remain till to-morrow, when the diligence passes through at an early hour, and I intend to go with it up the valley of the Rhine, as far as Altstetten.

To-morrow I shall probably have reached, or crossed, the boundaries of Switzerland, for my pleasure excursion is now over. Autumn is arrived, and I have no right to complain if I pass a few tiresome days, after so many enchanting ones, that I can never forget. On the contrary, I think I almost like it; there is always enough to be done, even in Sargans, (a wretched hole,) and in a regular deluge, like that of to-day—for happily an organ is always to be found in this country; they are certainly small, and the lower octave, both in the key-board and the pedal, imperfect, or as I call it, crippled; but still they are organs, and that is enough for me.

I have been playing all this morning, and really begun to practise, for it is a shame that I cannot play Sebastian Bach's principal works. I intend, if I can manage it, to practise for an hour every day in Munich, as after a couple of hours' work to-day, I certainly made considerable progress with my feet (nota bene, sitting). Ritz once told me that Schneider, in Dresden, played him the D major fugue, in the "wohl-temperirten Clavier," on the organ, supplying the bass with the pedal.

This had hitherto appeared to me so fabulous, that I could never properly comprehend it. It recurred to me this morning when I was playing the organ, so I instantly attempted it, and I at least see that it is far from being impossible, and that I shall accomplish it. The subject went pretty well, so I practised passages from the D major fugue, for the organ, from the F major toccata, and the G minor fugue, all of which I knew by heart. If I find a tolerable organ in Munich, and not an imperfect one, I will certainly conquer these, and feel childish delight at the idea of playing such pieces on the organ. The F major toccata, with the modulation at the close, sounded as if the church were about to tumble down; what a giant that Cantor was!

Besides organ-playing, I have a good many sketches to finish, in my new drawing book, (one was entirely filled in Engelberg) and then I must eat like six hundred wrestlers. After dinner I practise the organ again, and thus a rainy day passes at Sargans. It seems prettily situated, with a castle on the hill, but I cannot go a step beyond the door.

Evening.—Yesterday at this time, I still projected a pedestrian tour, and wished at all events to go through the whole of the Appenzell. It was a strange feeling when I learned that all mountain excursions were probably at an end for this year: the heights are covered with deep snow, for just as it has rained here, in the valley, for thirty-six hours, it has snowed incessantly on the hills above. The flocks have been obliged to come down into the valley from the Alps, where they ought to have remained for a whole month yet, so that all idea of any footpaths is out of the question. Yesterday I was still on the hills, but now they will be inaccessible for six months to come. My pedestrian excursions are over; wondrously beautiful they were, and I shall never forget them.

I mean to work hard at music, and high time that I should. I played on the organ till twilight, and was trampling energetically on the pedal, when we suddenly became aware that the deep C sharp in the great diapason, went buzzing softly on without ceasing; all our pressing, and shaking, and thumping on the keys, was of no avail, so we were obliged to climb into the organ among the big pipes. The C sharp continued gently humming,—the fault lay in the bellows; the organist was in the greatest perplexity, because to-morrow is a fête day; at last I stuffed my handkerchief into the pipe, and there was no more buzzing, but no more C sharp either. I played this passage incessantly, all the same:—

and it did very well.

I am now going to finish my sketch of the Glacier of the Rhone, and then the day will be at my own disposal; which means that I am going to sleep. I will write to you on the next page to-morrow evening wherever I am, for to-day I have no idea where I shall be. Good night! Eight is striking in F minor, and it is raining and blowing in F sharp minor or G sharp minor; in short, in every possible sharp key.