Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

Paris, January 14th, 1832

I now first begin to feel at home here, and really to know Paris; it is indeed the most singular and amusing place imaginable; but for one who is no politician, it does not possess so much interest. So I have become a doctrinaire. I read my newspaper every morning, form my own opinion about peace and war, and, only among friends, confess that I know nothing of the matter.

This is however not the case with F——, who is completely absorbed in the vortex of dilettantism and dogmatism, and really believes himself quite adapted to be a Minister. It is a sad pity, for nothing good will ever come of it. He has sufficient sense to be always occupied, but not enough to conduct any affair. He is a dilettante on all points, and has a clever knack of criticizing others, but he produces nothing. We continue on the same intimate terms, meeting every day, and liking each other's society, but inwardly we remain strangers. I suspect that he writes for the public papers; he is very much with Heine, and chatters abuse against Germany like a magpie; all this I much dislike, and as I really have a sincere regard for him, it worries me. I suppose I must try to become accustomed to it, but it is really too sad to know where a person is deficient, and yet to be unable to remedy their defects. Moreover he grows visibly older; so this irregular, unoccupied life is the less suitable for him.

A—— has left his parents' house, and gone to the Rue Monsigny, where body and soul are equally engrossed. I have in my possession an appeal to mankind from P—— in which he makes his confession of faith, and invites every one to surrender a share of his property, however small, to the St. Simoniens; calling on all artists to devote their genius in future to this religion; to compose better music than Rossini or Beethoven; to build temples of peace, and to paint like Raphael or David. I have twenty copies of this pamphlet, which P—— desired me, dear Father, to send to you. I rest satisfied by sending you one, which you will find quite enough, and even that one, by some private hand of course.

It is a bad sign of the state of the public mind here, that such a monstrous doctrine, in such detestable prose, should ever have existed, or impressed others; for it appears that the students of the Polytechnic School take considerable interest in it. It is difficult to say how far it may be carried, when there is temptation offered on every side, promising honour to one, fame to another; to me, an admiring public, and to the poor, money; while by their cold estimate of talent, they check all effort, and all progress. And then their ideas as to universal brotherhood, their disbelief in hell, and the devil, and eternal perdition, and of the annihilation of all egotism,—ideas, which in our country spring from nature, and prevail in every part of Christendom, and without which I should not wish to live, but which they however regard as a new invention and discovery, constantly repeating that they mean to transform the world, and to render mankind happy. A—— coolly tells me that he does not require to improve himself, but others only; because he is not at all imperfect, but on the contrary, perfect. They not only praise and compliment each other, but all those whom they wish to gain over; extolling any talent or capability you may possess, and lamenting that such great powers should be lost, by adhering to the old-fashioned notions of duty, vocation, and action, as they were formerly interpreted. When I listen to all this, it does seem to me a melancholy mystification. I attended a meeting last Sunday, where all the Fathers sat in a circle: then came the principal Father and demanded their reports, praising and blaming them, addressing the assembly, and issuing his commands; to me it was quite awful! A—— has completely renounced his parents, and lives with the Fathers, his disciples, and is endeavouring to procure a loan for their benefit; but enough of this subject!

A Pole gives a concert next week, where I am to play in a composition for six performers, along with Kalkbrenner, Hiller, and Co.; do not be surprised therefore if you see my name mutilated, as in the "Messager" lately, when the death of Professor Flegel (Hegel) was announced from Berlin, and all the papers copied it.

I have set to work again, and live most agreeably. I have not yet been able to write to you about the theatres, although they occupy me very much. How plain are the symptoms of bitterness and excitement even in the most insignificant farce; how invariably everything bears a reference to politics; how completely what is called the Romantic School has infected all the Parisians, for they think of nothing on the stage now but the plague, the gallows, the devil, etc., one striving to outstrip the other in horrors, and in liberalism; in the midst of thesemisères and fooleries, how charming is a talent like that of Léontine Fay, who is the perfection of grace and fascination, and remains unsullied by the absurdities she is compelled to utter and to act. How strange all these contrasts are! but this I reserve for future discussion.

Felix.