Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

London, April 27th, 1832.

(Extract from a letter from London)  

I wish I could only describe how happy I feel to be here once more; how much I like everything, and how gratified I am by the kindness of old friends; but as it is all going on at this moment, I must be brief for to-day.

I have also a number of people to seek out whom I have not yet seen, whilst I have been living with Klingemann, Rosen, and Moscheles, in as close intimacy as if we had never been parted. They form the nucleus of my present sojourn; we see each other every day; it is such a pleasure to me to be once more with good, earnest men, and true friends, with whom I do not require to be on my guard, nor to study them either. Moscheles and his wife show me a degree of touching kindness, which I value the more as my regard for them increases; and then the feeling of restored health, as if I lived afresh, and had come anew into this world—all these are combined.

May 11th

I cannot describe to you the happiness of these first weeks here. As from time to time every evil seems to accumulate, as it did during my winter in Paris, where I lost some of my most beloved friends, and never felt at home, and at last became very ill; so the reverse sometimes occurs, and thus it is in this charming country, where I am once more amongst friends, and am well, and among well-wishers, and enjoy in the fullest measure the sensation of returning health. Moreover it is warm, the lilacs are in bloom, and music is going on: only imagine how pleasant all this is!

I must really describe one happy morning last week: of all the flattering demonstrations I have hitherto received, it is the one which has most touched and affected me, and perhaps the only one which I shall always recall with fresh pleasure. There was a rehearsal last Saturday at the Philharmonic, where however nothing of mine was given, my overture not being yet written out. After "Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony," during which I was in a box, I wished to go into the room to talk to some old friends; scarcely, however, had I gone down below, when one of the orchestra called out, "There is Mendelssohn!" on which they all began shouting, and clapping their hands to such a degree, that for a time I really did not know what to do; and when this was over, another called out "Welcome to him!" on which the same uproar recommenced, and I was obliged to cross the room, and to clamber into the orchestra and return thanks.

Never can I forget it, for it was more precious to me than any distinction, as it showed me that the musiciansloved me, and rejoiced at my coming, and I cannot tell you what a glad feeling this was.