Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

Paris, March 31st, 1832.

Pray forgive my long silence, but I had nothing cheering to communicate, and am always very unwilling to write gloomy letters. Indeed, this being the case, I had better still have remained silent, for I am in anything but a gay mood. But now that we have the spectre here, I mean to write to you regularly, that you may know that I am well, and pursuing my work.

The sad news of Goethe's loss makes me feel poor indeed! What a blow to the country! It is another of those mournful events connected with my stay here, which will always recur to my mind at the very name of Paris; and not all the kindness I have received, nor the tumult and excitement, nor the life and gaiety here, can ever efface this impression. May it please God to preserve me from still worse tidings, and grant us all a happy meeting; this is the chief thing!

Various circumstances have induced me to delay my departure from here for at least a fortnight,—that is, till the middle of April; and the idea of my concert has begun to revive in my mind; I mean to accomplish it too, if the cholera does not deter people from musical, or any other kind of réunions. We shall know this in the course of a week, and in any case I must remain here till then. I believe however that everything will go on in the usual regular course, and "Figaro" prove to be in the right, who wrote an article called "Enfoncé le choléra," in which he says that Paris is the grave of all reputations, for no one there ever admired anything; yawning at Paganini (he does not seem to please much this time), and not even looking round in the street at an Emperor or a Dey; so possibly this malady might also lose its formidable reputation there.

Count Perthuis has no doubt told you of my playing at the Conservatoire. The French say that it was un beau succès, and the audience were pleased. The Queen, too, sent me all sorts of fine compliments on the subject. On Saturday I am again to play twice in public. My octett, in church on Monday last, exceeded in absurdity anything the world ever saw or heard of. While the priest was officiating at the altar during the scherzo, it really sounded like "Fliegenschnauz und Mückennas, verfluchte Dilettanten." The people however considered it very fine sacred music.

I am indeed delighted, dear Father, that my quartett in B minor pleases you; it is a favourite of mine, and I like to play it, although the adagio is much too cloying; still, the scherzo that follows has all the more effect. I can see that you seem rather inclined to deride my A minor quartett, when you say that there is a piece of instrumental music which has made you rack your brains to discover the composer's thoughts; when, in fact, he probably had no thoughts at all. I must defend the work, for I love it; but it certainly depends very much on the way in which it is executed, and one single musician who could perform it with zeal and sympathy, as Taubert did, would make a vast difference.—Your

Felix.