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+Project Gutenberg's A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, by George Sampson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy
+
+Author: George Sampson
+
+Release Date: July 9, 2009 [EBook #29361]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH FELIX MENDELSSOHN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._  FIRST WALPURGIS NIGHT.
+   "Through the night-gloom lead and follow
+         In and out each rocky hollow."]
+
+
+
+
+A DAY WITH FELIX
+MENDELSSOHN
+BARTHOLDY
+
+BY GEORGE SAMPSON
+
+
+HODDER & STOUGHTON
+
+
+ _In the same Series._
+ _Beethoven._
+ _Schubert._
+
+
+
+
+A DAY WITH MENDELSSOHN.
+
+
+During the year 1840 I visited Leipzig with letters of introduction from
+Herr Klingemann of the Hanoverian Legation in London. I was a singer,
+young, enthusiastic, and eager--as some singers unfortunately are
+not--to be a musician as well. Klingemann had many friends among the
+famous German composers, because of his personal charm, and because his
+simple verses had provided them with excellent material for the sweet
+little songs the Germans love so well. I need scarcely say that the man
+I most desired to meet in Leipzig was Mendelssohn; and so, armed
+with Klingemann's letter, I eagerly went to his residence--a quiet,
+well-appointed house near the Promenade. I was admitted without delay,
+and shown into the composer's room. It was plainly a musician's
+work-room, yet it had a note of elegance that surprised me. Musicians
+are not a tidy race; but here there was none of the admired disorder
+that one instinctively associates with an artist's sanctum. There was no
+litter. The well-used pianoforte could be approached without circuitous
+negotiation of a rampart of books and papers, and the chairs were free
+from encumbrances. On a table stood some large sketch-books, one open
+at a page containing an excellent landscape drawing; and other spirited
+sketches hung framed upon the walls. The abundant music paper was perhaps
+the most strangely tidy feature of the room, for the exquisitely neat
+notation that covered it suggested the work of a careful copyist rather
+than the original hand of a composer. I could not refrain from looking
+at one piece. It was a very short and very simple Adagio cantabile in
+the Key of F for a solo pianoforte. It appealed at once to me as a
+singer, for its quiet, unaffected melody seemed made to be sung rather
+than to be played. The "cantabile" of its heading was superfluous--it
+was a Song without Words, evidently one of a new set, for I knew it was
+none of the old. But the sound of a footstep startled me and I guiltily
+replaced the sheet. The door opened, and I was warmly greeted in
+excellent English by the man who entered. I had no need to be told that
+it was Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy himself.
+
+Nature is strangely freakish in her choice of instruments for noble
+purposes. Sometimes the delicate spirit of creative genius is housed in
+a veritable tenement of clay, so that what is within seems ever at war
+with what is without. At times the antagonism is more dreadful still,
+and the artist-soul is sent to dwell in the body of a beast, coarse
+in speech and habit, ignorant and dull in mind, vile and unclean in
+thought. But sometimes Nature is generous, and makes the body itself an
+expression of the informing spirit. Mendelssohn was one of these almost
+rare instances. In him, artist and man were like a beautiful picture
+appropriately framed. He was then thirty-one. In figure he was slim and
+rather below the middle height, and he moved with the easy grace of
+an accomplished dancer. Masses of long dark hair crowned his finely
+chiselled face; but what I noticed first and last was the pair of
+lustrous, dark brown eyes that glowed and dilated with every deep
+emotion. He had the quiet, assured manner of a master; yet I was not so
+instantly conscious of that, as of an air of reverence and benignity,
+which, combined with the somewhat Oriental tendency of feature and
+colour, made his whole personality suggest that of a young poet-prophet
+of Israel.
+
+"So," he said, his English gaining piquancy from his slight lisp, "you
+come from England--from dear England. I love your country greatly. It
+has fog, and it is dark, too, for the sun forgets to shine at times;
+but it is beautiful--like a picture, and when it smiles, what land is
+sweeter?"
+
+"You have many admirers in England, sir," I replied; "perhaps I may
+rather say you have many friends there."
+
+"Yes," he said, with a bright smile, "call them friends, for I am a
+friend to all England. Even in the glowing sun of Italy I have thought
+with pleasure of your dear, smoky London, which seems to wrap itself
+round one like a friendly cloak. It was England that gave me my first
+recognition as a serious musician, when Berlin was merely inclined to
+think that I was an interesting young prodigy with musical gifts that
+were very amusing in a young person of means."
+
+"You have seen much of England, have you not, sir?" I asked.
+
+"A great deal," he replied, "and of Scotland and Wales, too. I have
+heard the Highland pipers in Edinburgh, and I have stood in Queen Mary's
+tragic palace of Holyrood. Yes, and I have been among the beautiful
+hills that the great Sir Walter has described so wonderfully."
+
+"And," I added, "music-lovers do not need to be told that you have also
+penetrated
+
+ 'The silence of the seas
+  Among the farthest Hebrides.'"
+
+"Ah!" he said, smiling, "you like my Overture, then?"
+
+I hastened to assure him that I admired it greatly; and he continued,
+with glowing eyes: "What a wonder is the Fingal's Cave--that vast
+cathedral of the seas, with its dark, lapping waters within, and the
+brightness of the gleaming waves outside!"
+
+Almost instinctively he sat down at the piano, and began to play, as
+if his feelings must express themselves in tones rather than words. His
+playing was most remarkable for its orchestral quality. Unsuspected
+power lay in those delicate hands, for at will they seemed able to draw
+from the piano a full orchestral volume, and to suggest, if desired, the
+peculiar tones of solo instruments.
+
+This Overture of his is made of the sounds of the sea. There is first a
+theme that suggests the monotonous wash of the waters and the crying of
+sea-birds within the vast spaces of the cavern. Then follows a noble
+rising passage, as if the spirit of the place were ascending from the
+depths of the sea and pervading with his presence the immensity of his
+ocean fane. This, in its turn, is succeeded by a movement that seems to
+carry us into the brightness outside, though still the plaint of crying
+birds pursues us in haunting monotony. It is a wonderful piece, this
+Hebrides Overture, with all the magic and the mystery of the Islands
+about it.
+
+"That is but one of my Scottish impressions," said Mendelssohn; "I have
+many more, and I am trying to weave them into a Scottish Symphony to
+match the Italian."
+
+"You believe in a programme then?" I asked.
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._ SPRING SONG (Lied Ohne Worte)
+   "To think of it is to be happy with the innocence of pure joy."]
+
+"Oh, yes!" he answered; "moreover I believe that most composers have a
+programme implicit in their minds, even though they may not recognise
+it. But always one must keep within the limits of the principle
+inscribed by Beethoven at the head of his Pastoral Symphony, 'More an
+expression of the feelings than a painting.' Music cannot paint. It is
+on a different plane of time. A painting must leap to the eye, but a
+musical piece unfolds itself slowly. If music tries to paint it loses
+its greatest glory--the power of infinite, immeasurable suggestion.
+Beethoven, quite allowably, and in a purely humorous fashion, used a
+few touches of realism; but his Pastoral Symphony is not a painting,
+it is not even descriptive; it is a musical outpouring of emotion, and
+enshrines within its notes all the sweet peaceful brightness of an early
+summer day. To think of it," he added, rising in his enthusiasm, "is to
+be happy with the innocence of pure joy."
+
+I was relieved of the necessity of replying by a diversion without the
+door. Two male voices were heard declaiming in a sort of
+mock-melodramatic duet, "Are you at home, are you at home? May we enter,
+may we enter?"
+
+"Come in, you noisy fellows," exclaimed Mendelssohn gaily; and two men
+entered. The elder, who was of Mendelssohn's age, carried a violin case,
+and saluted the composer with a flourish of the music held in his other
+hand. "Hail you second Beethoven!" he exclaimed. Suddenly he observed
+my presence and hushed his demonstrations, giving me a courteous, and
+humorously penitent salutation. Mendelssohn introduced us.
+
+"This," he said to me "is Mr. Ferdinand David, the great violinist and
+leader of our orchestra; and this," indicating the younger visitor, "is
+a countryman of yours, Mr. Sterndale Bennett. We think a great deal of
+Mr. Bennett in Leipzig."
+
+"Ah, ha!" said David to me; "you've come to the right house in Leipzig
+if you're an Englishman. Mendelssohn dotes on you all, doesn't he,
+Bennett?"
+
+"Yes," said Bennett, "and we dote on him. I left all the young ladies in
+England singing 'Ist es wahr.'"
+
+"Ist es wahr? ist es wahr?" carolled David, in lady-like falsetto, with
+comic exaggeration of anguish sentiment.
+
+Bennett put his hands to his ears with an expression of anguish, saying,
+"Spare us, David; you play like an angel, but you sing like--well, I
+leave it to you?"
+
+"And I forgot to mention," said Mendelssohn with a gay laugh, "that our
+young English visitor is a singer bringing ecstatic recommendations from
+Klingemann."
+
+"Ah! a rival!" said David, with a dramatic gesture; "but since we're all
+of a trade, perhaps our friend will show he doesn't mind my nonsense by
+singing this song to us."
+
+"Yes," said Mendelssohn, with a graceful gesture, "I shall be greatly
+pleased if you will."
+
+I could not refuse. Mendelssohn sat down at the piano and I began the
+simple song that has helped so many English people to appreciate the
+beauties of the German _lied_.
+
+  "Can it be? Can it be?
+   Dost thou wander through the bower,
+   Wishing I was there with thee?
+   Lonely, midst the moonlight's splendour,
+   Dost thou seek for me?
+   Can it be? Say!
+   But the secret rapturous feeling
+   Ne'er in words must be betrayed;
+   True eyes will tell what love conceals!"
+
+"Thank you very much," said Mendelssohn with a smile.
+
+"Bravo!" exclaimed David; "but our Mendelssohn can do more than make
+pretty songs. This," he continued, indicating the music he had brought,
+"is going to be something great!"
+
+"Do you think so?" asked Mendelssohn quietly, yet with eyes that gleamed
+intensely.
+
+"I'm sure of it," said David emphatically. "There is plenty of music for
+violin and orchestra--oceans of it; but there has been hitherto only one
+real great big Concerto,"--he spread his arms wide as he spoke. "Now
+there will be two."
+
+"No, no!" exclaimed Mendelssohn quickly; "if I finish this Concerto it
+will be with no impious intention of competing with Beethoven. You see,
+for one thing, I have begun it quite differently."
+
+"Yes," nodded David, and he began to drum on the table in the rhythm of
+Beethoven's fateful knocking at the door; "yes, Beethoven was before all
+a symphonist--his Concerto is a Symphony in D major with violin
+obbligato."
+
+"Observe," murmured Bennett, "the blessing of a musical temperament. A
+drunken man thumps monotonously at his door in the depths of night. To
+an Englishman it suggests calling the police; to Beethoven it suggests a
+symphony."
+
+"Well, David," said Mendelssohn, "it's to be your Concerto, so I want
+you to discuss it with me in all details. I am the most devoted admirer
+of your playing, but I have, as well, the sincerest respect for your
+musicianship."
+
+"Thank you," said David with a smile of deep pleasure; and turning to me
+he added, "I really called to play this over with the master. Shall you
+mind if I scratch it through?"
+
+I tried to assure him of the abiding pleasure that I, a young stranger,
+would receive from being honoured by permission to remain.
+
+"Oh, that's all right," he said unaffectedly; "we are all in the trade,
+you know; you sing, I play."
+
+Mendelssohn sat at the piano and David tuned his instrument. Mendelssohn
+used no copy. His memory was prodigious. The violin gave out a
+beautiful melody that soared passionately, yet gracefully, above an
+accompaniment, simple at first, but growing gradually more intense and
+insistent till a great climax was reached, after which the solo voice
+sank slowly to a low, whispering murmur, while the piano played above it
+a succession of sweetly delicate and graceful phrases. The movement was
+worked out with the utmost complexity and brilliance, but came suddenly
+to an end. The playing of the two masters was beyond description.
+
+"The cadenza is subject to infinite alteration," remarked Mendelssohn;
+and turning to me, he continued, "the movement is unfinished, you see;
+and even what is written may be greatly changed. I fear I am a
+fastidious corrector. I am rarely satisfied with my first thoughts."
+
+"Well, I don't think much change is wanted here," said David. "I'm
+longing to have the rest of it. When will it be ready?"
+
+Mendelssohn shook his head with a smile. "Ask me for it in five years,
+David."
+
+"What do you think of it, Bennett?" asked the violinist.
+
+"I was thinking that we are in the garden of Eden," said Bennett,
+oracularly.
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Mendelssohn.
+
+"This," explained Bennett: "there seems to me something essentially and
+exquisitely feminine about this movement, just as in Beethoven's
+Concerto there is something essentially and heroically masculine. In
+other words, he has made the Adam of Concertos, and you have mated it
+with the Eve. Henceforth," he continued, waving his hands in
+benediction, "the tribe of Violin Concertos shall increase and multiply
+and become as the stars of heaven in multitude."
+
+"The more the merrier," cried David, "at least for fiddlers--I don't
+know what the audiences will think."
+
+"Audiences don't think--at least, not in England," said Bennett.
+
+"Come, come!" interposed Mendelssohn; and turning to me with a smile he
+said, "Will you allow Mr. Bennett to slander your countrymen like this?"
+
+"But Mr. Bennett doesn't mean it," I replied; "he knows that English
+audiences love, and are always faithful to, what stirs them deeply."
+
+"Yes; but what does stir them deeply?" he asked; "look at the enormous
+popularity of senseless sentimental songs."
+
+"On the other hand," I retorted, "look at our old affection for Handel
+and our new affection for Mr. Mendelssohn himself."
+
+"Thank you," said Mendelssohn, with a smile; "Handel is certainly yours
+by adoption. You English love the Bible, and Handel knew well how to wed
+its beautiful words to noble music. He was happy in having at his
+command the magnificent prose of the Bible and the magnificent verses of
+Milton. I, too, am fascinated by the noble language of the Scriptures,
+and I have used it both in the vernacular and in the sounding Latin of
+the Vulgate. And I am haunted even now by the words of one of the Psalms
+which seem to call for an appropriate setting. You recall the verses?
+
+  "Hear my prayer; O God;
+   and hide not thyself from my petition.
+
+   Take heed unto me, and hear me,
+   how I mourn in my prayer and am vexed.
+
+   The enemy crieth so,
+   and the ungodly cometh on so fast;
+   for they are minded to do me some mischief,
+   so maliciously are they set against me.
+
+   My heart is disquieted within me;
+   and the fear of death is fallen upon me.
+
+   Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me;
+   and a horrible dread hath overwhelmed me.
+
+   And I said, O that I had wings like a dove;
+   for then would I flee away, and be at rest.
+
+   Lo, then would I get me away far off;
+   and remain in the wilderness.
+
+   I would make haste to escape;
+   because of the stormy wind and tempest."
+
+"Yes," said David, nodding emphatically; "they are wonderful words; you
+must certainly set them."
+
+"The Bible is an inexhaustible mine of song and story for musical
+setting," continued Mendelssohn; "I have one of its stories in my mind
+now; but only one man, a greater even than Handel, was worthy to touch
+the supreme tragedy of all."
+
+The last words were murmured as if to himself rather than to us, and he
+accompanied them abstractedly with tentative, prelusive chords, which
+gradually grew into the most strangely moving music I have ever heard.
+
+Its complex, swelling phrases presently drew together and rose up in
+one great major chord. No one spoke. I felt as if some mighty spirit
+had been evoked and that its unseen presence overshadowed us.
+
+"What was it?" I presently whispered to Bennett; but he shook his head
+and said, "Wait; he will tell you."
+
+At length I turned to Mendelssohn and said, "Is that part of the new
+work of yours you mentioned just now?"
+
+"Of mine!" he exclaimed; "of mine! I could never write such music. No,
+no! That was Bach, John Sebastian Bach--part of his St. Matthew Passion.
+I was playing not so much the actual notes of any chorus, but rather the
+effect of certain passages as I could feel them in my mind."
+
+"So that was by Bach!" I said in wonder.
+
+"Yes," said Mendelssohn; "and people know so little of him. They either
+think of him as the composer of mathematical exercises in music, or else
+they confuse him with others of his family. He was Cantor of the St.
+Thomas School here in Leipzig, the perfect type of a true servant of
+our glorious art. He wrote incessantly, but the greatest of his works
+lay forgotten after his death; and it was I, I, who disinterred this
+marvellous music-drama of the Passion, and gave it in Berlin ten years
+ago--its first performance since Bach's death almost a century before.
+But there," he added, with an apologetic smile, "I talk too much! Let us
+speak of something else."
+
+"Yes," said David, "you will talk of Bach for ever if no one stops you.
+Not that I mind. I am a disciple, too."
+
+"And I, too," added Bennett. "I mean to emulate Mendelssohn. He was the
+first to give the 'Passion' in Germany, I will be the first to give it
+in England."
+
+"Then I'll be recording angel," said David, "and register your vow.
+You'll show him up, if he breaks his word, won't you?" he added, turning
+to me.
+
+"Now this will really change the subject," said Mendelssohn, producing a
+sheet of manuscript. "Here is a little song I wrote last year to some
+old verses. Perhaps our new friend will let us hear it."
+
+In great trepidation I took the sheet. It was headed simply "Volkslied."
+I saw at once that there would be no difficulty in reading it, for the
+music was both graceful and simple.
+
+"Shall we try?" asked Mendelssohn, with his quiet, reassuring smile.
+
+"If you are willing to let me," I answered.
+
+   _Parting._
+
+  "It is decreed by heaven's behest
+   That man from all he loves the best
+         Must sever.
+   That soon or late with breaking heart
+   With all his dear ones he must part
+         For ever.
+
+   How oft we cull a budding flower,
+   To see it bloom a transient hour;
+         'Tis gathered.
+   The bud becomes a lovely rose,
+   Its morning blush at evening goes;
+         'Tis withered.
+
+   And has it pleased our God to lend
+   His cheering smile in child or friend?
+         To-morrow--
+   To-morrow if reclaimed again
+   The parting hour will prove how vain
+         Is sorrow.
+
+   Oft hope beguiles the friends who part;
+   With happy smiles, and heart to heart,
+   'To meet,' they cry, 'we sever.'
+   It proves good-bye for ever.
+         For ever!"
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._   PARTING.
+  "It is decreed by heaven's behest
+   That man from all he loves the best
+          Must sever."]
+
+"Bravo!" cried Bennett.
+
+"Say rather, 'Bravi,'" said David, "for the song was as sweet as the
+singer."
+
+"Yes," said Bennett; "the simple repetition of the closing words of each
+verse is like a sigh of regret."
+
+"And the whole thing," added David, "has the genuine simplicity of the
+true folk-melody."
+
+Further discussion was prevented by a characteristic knock at the door.
+
+The visitor who entered in response to Mendelssohn's call was a sturdily
+built man of thirty, or thereabouts, with an air of mingled courage,
+resolution, and good humour. His long straight hair was brushed back
+from a broad, intellectual brow, and his thoughtful, far-looking eyes
+intensified the impression he gave of force and original power. He
+smiled humorously. "All the youth, beauty and intellect of Leipzig in
+one room. I leave you to apportion the qualities. Making much noise,
+too! And did I hear the strains of a vocal recital?"
+
+"You did," replied Bennett; "that was my young countryman here, who has
+just been singing a new song of Mendelssohn's."
+
+"Pardon me," said the new-comer to me; "you see Mendelssohn so fills the
+stage everywhere, that even David gets overlooked sometimes, don't
+you, my inspired fiddler?" he added, slapping the violinist on the back.
+
+"Yes I do," said David, "and so do the manners of all of you, for no one
+introduces our singer;" and turning to me he added, "this is Mr. Robert
+Schumann who divides the musical firmament of Leipzig with Mendelssohn."
+
+"You forget to add," said Mendelssohn, "that Schumann conquers in
+literature as well as in music. No one has written better musical
+critiques."
+
+"Yes, yes," grumbled David; "I wish he wouldn't do so much of it. If he
+scribbled less he'd compose more. The cobbler should stick to his last,
+and the musician shouldn't relinquish the music-pen for the goose
+quill."
+
+"But what of Mendelssohn himself," urged Schumann; "he, in a special
+sense, is a man of letters; for if there's one thing as good as being
+with him, it is being away from him, and receiving his delightful
+epistles."
+
+"Not the same thing," said David, shaking his head.
+
+"And then," said Schumann, waving his hand comprehensively around the
+room, "observe his works of art."
+
+I was about to express my astonishment at finding that Mendelssohn
+himself had produced these admirable pictures; but David suddenly
+addressed me: "By the way, don't let Mendelssohn decoy you into playing
+billiards with him; or if you do weakly yield, insist on fifty in the
+hundred--unless, of course, you have misspent your time, too, in gaining
+disreputable proficiency;" and he shook his head at the thought of many
+defeats.
+
+"Certainly," exclaimed Schumann, "Mendelssohn does all things well."
+
+"That's a handsome admission from a rival," said David.
+
+"A rival!" answered Schumann with spirit. "There can be no talk of
+rivalry between us. I know my place. Mendelssohn and I differ about
+things, sometimes; but who could quarrel with him?"
+
+"I could!" exclaimed David, jumping up, and striking an heroic attitude.
+
+"You!" laughed Schumann; "You quarrel, you dear old scraper of
+unmentionable strings!"
+
+"Ah, ha! my boy," chuckled David, "you can't write for them."
+
+"You mean I don't write for them," said Schumann; "I admit that I don't
+provide much for you to do. I leave that to my betters."
+
+"Never mind," said David, giving his shoulder a friendly pat; "at least
+you can write for the piano. I believe in you, and your queer music."
+
+"That's nice of you, David," replied Schumann, "but as to Mendelssohn
+and me, who shall decide which of us is right? He believes in making
+music as pellucid to the hearers as clear water. Now I like to baffle
+them--to leave them something to struggle with. Music is never the worse
+for being obscure at first."
+
+Mendelssohn shook his head and smiled. "You state your case eloquently,
+Schumann," he said, "but my feelings revolt against darkness and
+indefiniteness."
+
+"Yes, yes," assented Schumann; "you are the Fairies' Laureate."
+
+"Hear, hear!" cried David. "Now could anything be finer in its way than
+the Midsummer Night's Dream music? And the wondrous brat wrote it at
+seventeen!"
+
+Mendelssohn laughingly acknowledged the compliments.
+
+"That is a beautiful fairy song of yours," I said, "the one to Heine's
+verses about the fairies riding their tiny steeds through the wood."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Schumann; "will you sing it to us?"
+
+"I am afraid it requires much lighter singing than I can give it," I
+replied; "but I will try, if you wish."
+
+"We shall all be glad if you will," said Mendelssohn, as he turned once
+more to the key-board. The bright staccato rhythm flashed out from his
+fingers so gaily that I was swept into the song without time for
+hesitation:
+
+   _The Fairy Love._
+
+   "Through the woods the moon was glancing;
+   There I saw the Fays advancing;
+   On they bounded, gaily singing,
+   Horns resounded, bells were ringing.
+   Tiny steeds with antlers growing
+   On their foreheads brightly glowing,
+   Bore them swift as falcons speeding
+   Fly to strike the game receding.
+   Passing, Queen Titania sweetly
+   Deigned with nods and smiles to greet me.
+   Means this, love will be requited?
+   Or, will hope by death be blighted?"
+
+"You have greatly obliged us," said Schumann courteously.
+
+"It reminds me, though I don't know why," said David, "of that
+fairy-like duet about Jack Frost and the dancing flowers."
+
+"Come along and play it with me," said Mendelssohn to Bennett; "you've
+been hiding your talents all day."
+
+Bennett joined him at the piano, and the two began to romp like
+schoolboys.
+
+The simple duet was woven into a brilliant fantasia, but always in the
+gay spring-like spirit of the poem.
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._    THE FAIRY LOVE.
+ "Through the woods the moon was glancing
+       There I saw the fays advancing.
+         *     *     *     *     *
+   Tiny steeds with antlers growing
+       on their foreheads brightly glowing."]
+
+
+   _The Maybells and the Flowers._
+
+  "Young Maybells ring throughout the vale
+     And sound so sweet and clear,
+   The dance begins, ye flowers all,
+     Come with a merry cheer!
+   The flowers red and white and blue,
+     Merrily flock around,
+   Forget-me-nots of heavenly hue,
+     And violets, too, abound.
+
+   Young Maybells play a sprightly tune,
+     And all begin to dance,
+   While o'er them smiles the gentle moon,
+     With her soft silvery glance.
+   This Master Frost offended sore;
+     He in the vale appeared:
+   Young Maybells ring the dance no more--
+     Gone are the flowers seared!
+
+   But Frost has scarcely taken flight,
+     When well-known sounds we hear:
+   The Maybells with renewed delight,
+     Are ringing doubly clear!
+   Now I no more can stay at home,
+     The Maybells call me so:
+   The flowers to the dance all roam,
+     Then why should I not go?"
+
+"Really," said David; "it's quite infectious"; and jumping up he began
+to pirouette, exclaiming, "Then why should I not go!"
+
+"David, this is unseemly," exclaimed Schumann, with mock severity.
+"There's another pretty fairy-like piece of yours, Mendelssohn, the
+Capriccio in E minor."
+
+"Yes," said Bennett, beginning to touch its opening fanfare of tiny
+trumpet-notes; "someone told me a pretty story of this piece, to the
+effect that a young lady gave you some flowers, and you undertook,
+gallantly, to write the music the Fairies played on the little
+trumpet-like blooms."
+
+"Yes," said Mendelssohn, with a smile, "it was in Wales, and I wrote the
+piece for Miss Taylor."
+
+"By-the-by," said Schumann, "David's antics remind me that Mendelssohn
+can make Witches and other queer creatures, dance, as well as Fairies."
+
+"Villain," exclaimed David, and he began to recite dramatically the
+invocation from the "First Walpurgis Night," while Mendelssohn played
+the flashing accompaniment.
+
+  "Come with flappers,
+   Fire and clappers;
+   Hop with hopsticks,
+   Brooms and mopsticks;
+   Through the night-gloom lead and follow
+   In and out each rocky hollow.
+   Owls and ravens
+   Howl with us and scare the cravens."
+
+"Ah," said Mendelssohn, "I don't think the old poet would really have
+cared for my setting, though he admired my playing, and was always most
+friendly to me."
+
+"Yes," said Schumann, warmly; "Goethe liked you because you were
+successful, and prosperous. Now Beethoven was poor: therefore Beethoven
+must first be loftily patronised and then contemptuously snubbed. I can
+never forgive Goethe for that. And as for poor Schubert, well, Goethe
+ignored him, and actually thought he had misinterpreted the Erl-king! It
+would be comic if it were not painful."
+
+"Poor Schubert!" said Mendelssohn with a sigh; "he met always Fortune's
+frown, never her smile."
+
+"Don't you think," said Bennett, "that his genius was the better for his
+poverty--that he learned in suffering what he taught in song?"
+
+"No, I do not!" replied Mendelssohn warmly. "That is a vile doctrine
+invented by a callous world to excuse its cruelty."
+
+"I believe there's something in it, though," said Bennett.
+
+"There is some truth in it, but not much," answered Mendelssohn, his
+eyes flashing as he spoke. "It is true that the artist learns by
+suffering, because the artist is more sensitive and feels more deeply
+than others. But enough of suffering comes to all of us, even the most
+fortunate, without the sordid, gratuitous misery engendered by poverty."
+
+"I agree with Mendelssohn," said Schumann. "To say that poverty is the
+proper stimulus of genius is to talk pernicious nonsense. Poverty slays,
+it does not nourish; poverty narrows the vision, it does not ennoble;
+poverty lowers the moral standard and makes a man sordid. You can't get
+good art out of that."
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._  THE MAYBELLS AND THE FLOWERS.
+   "Now I no more can stay at home.
+     The Maybells call me so.
+   The flowers to the dance all roam,
+     Then, why should I not go?"]
+
+"Perhaps I have been more fortunate than most artists," said
+Mendelssohn softly. "When I think of all that my dear father and mother
+did for us, I can scarcely restrain tears of gratitude. Almost more
+valuable than their careful encouragement was their noble, serious
+common-sense. My mother, whom Heaven long preserve to me, was not the
+woman to let me, or any of us, live in a fool's paradise, and my dear
+dead father was too good a man of business to set me walking in a blind
+alley. Ah!" he continued, with glistening eyes, "the great musical times
+we had in the dear old Berlin house!"
+
+"Yes," said David; "Your house was on the Leipzig Road. You see, even
+then, the finger of fate pointed the way to this place."
+
+"Indeed," said Schumann, with a sigh, "You certainly had extraordinary
+opportunities. Not that I've been badly used, though."
+
+"Your father was genuinely proud of you," said David. "I remember his
+epigram: 'Once I was the son of my father; now I am the father of my
+son.'"
+
+Mendelssohn nodded with a smile, and, turning to me, said in
+explanation, "You must know that my father's father was a famous
+philosopher."
+
+"Well!" said Schumann, rising, "I must be going."
+
+Bennett and David also prepared to leave, and I rose with them.
+
+"Wait a moment," said Mendelssohn; and going to the door he called
+softly, "Cecile, are you there?"
+
+He went out for a moment, and returned with a beautiful and charming
+girl, who greeted the three visitors warmly.
+
+Mendelssohn then presented me, saying, gently and almost proudly, "This
+is my wife."
+
+I bowed deeply.
+
+"You are from England?" said the lady, with the sweetest of smiles; "I
+declare I am quite jealous of your country, my husband loves it so
+much."
+
+"We are very proud of his affection," I replied.
+
+She turned to Schumann and said softly, "And how is Clara?"
+
+"Oh, she is well;" he replied with a glad smile.
+
+"And the father?" she added.
+
+"We have been much worried," he said gravely; "but we shall marry this
+year in spite of all he may do."
+
+"She is worth all your struggles," said Mendelssohn warmly; "she is a
+charming lady, and an excellent musician. You will be very happy."
+
+"Thanks, thanks," replied Schumann, with evident pleasure.
+
+Mendelssohn turned to me and shook my hand warmly. "I have been glad to
+meet you, and to hear you; for you sing like a musician. I shall not say
+good-bye. You will call again, I hope, before you leave Leipzig. Perhaps
+we may meet, too, in England. I am now writing something that I hope my
+English friends will like."
+
+"What is it, sir?" I asked.
+
+"It is an oratorio on the subject of Elijah," he replied.
+
+"It is bound to be good," said Schumann enthusiastically. "Posterity
+will call you the man who never failed."
+
+"Ah!" said Mendelssohn almost sadly, "you are all good and kind, but you
+praise me too much. Perhaps posterity will remember me for my little
+pieces rather than for my greater efforts. Perhaps it will remember me
+best, not as the master, but as the servant; for in my way I have tried
+very hard to glorify the great men who went before me--Bach, Mozart,
+Beethoven, Schubert--Bach most of all. Even if every note of my writing
+should perish, perhaps future generations will think kindly of me,
+remembering that it was I, the Jew by birth, who gave back to
+Christianity that imperishable setting of its tragedy and glory."
+
+With these words in my ears I passed out into the pleasant streets of
+Mendelssohn's chosen city.
+
+
+ _Printed by The Bushey Colour Press (André & Sleigh, Ltd.)._
+ _Bushey, Herts._
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
+
+Contemporary spellings have been retained even when inconsistent. In a
+small number of cases, missing punctuation has been silently added.
+
+The following additional changes have been made:
+
+ Lied ohne Wörte              Lied ohne _Worte_
+
+ grateful and simple  	    _graceful_ and simple
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, by 
+George Sampson
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+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, by George Sampson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy
+
+Author: George Sampson
+
+Release Date: July 9, 2009 [EBook #29361]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH FELIX MENDELSSOHN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img1.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img1.jpg" height="400"
+      alt="BOOK COVER" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img1.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img2.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img2.jpg" height="300"
+      alt="MENDELSSOHN" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img2.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h2>A DAY WITH FELIX</h2>
+<h1>MENDELSSOHN<br />
+B&nbsp;A&nbsp;R&nbsp;T&nbsp;H&nbsp;O&nbsp;L&nbsp;D&nbsp;Y</h1>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>BY GEORGE SAMPSON</h2>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="logo">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img3.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img3.jpg" height="80"
+      alt="LOGO" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+
+<h4>HODDER &amp; STOUGHTON</h4>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="advertising">
+<tr><td><i>In the same Series.</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td><i>Beethoven.</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td><i>Schubert.</i></td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img4.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img4.jpg" height="500"
+      alt="FIRST WALPURGIS NIGHT" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <span class="caption"><i><small>Painting by N. M. Price.</small></i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;FIRST WALPURGIS NIGHT.<br />
+          Click to <a href="images/img4.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>"Through the night-gloom lead and follow</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="ind3"><small>In and out each rocky hollow."</small></span></td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>A DAY WITH MENDELSSOHN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 75px;">
+<img src="images/img5.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="D" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class="unindent">uring the year 1840 I visited
+Leipzig with letters of introduction
+from Herr Klingemann of
+the Hanoverian Legation in London.
+I was a singer, young,
+enthusiastic, and eager&mdash;as some
+singers unfortunately are not&mdash;to be a musician
+as well. Klingemann had many friends
+among the famous German composers, because
+of his personal charm, and because
+his simple verses had provided them with
+excellent material for the sweet little songs
+the Germans love so well. I need scarcely
+say that the man I most desired to meet in
+Leipzig was Mendelssohn; and so, armed
+with Klingemann's letter, I eagerly went to
+his residence&mdash;a quiet, well-appointed house
+near the Promenade. I was admitted without
+delay, and shown into the composer's room.
+It was plainly a musician's work-room, yet
+it had a note of elegance that surprised me.
+Musicians are not a tidy race; but here there
+was none of the admired disorder that one
+instinctively associates with an artist's sanctum.
+There was no litter. The well-used
+pianoforte could be approached without circuitous
+negotiation of a rampart of books and
+papers, and the chairs were free from encumbrances.
+On a table stood some large
+sketch-books, one open at a page containing
+an excellent landscape drawing; and other
+spirited sketches hung framed upon the walls.
+The abundant music paper was perhaps the
+most strangely tidy feature of the room, for
+the exquisitely neat notation that covered it
+suggested the work of a careful copyist rather
+than the original hand of a composer. I
+could not refrain from looking at one piece.
+It was a very short and very simple Adagio
+cantabile in the Key of F for a solo pianoforte.
+It appealed at once to me as a singer,
+for its quiet, unaffected melody seemed made
+to be sung rather than to be played. The
+"cantabile" of its heading was superfluous&mdash;it
+was a Song without Words, evidently one
+of a new set, for I knew it was none of the
+old. But the sound of a footstep startled me
+and I guiltily replaced the sheet. The door
+opened, and I was warmly greeted in excellent
+English by the man who entered. I
+had no need to be told that it was Felix
+Mendelssohn Bartholdy himself.</div>
+
+<p>Nature is strangely freakish in her choice
+of instruments for noble purposes. Sometimes
+the delicate spirit of creative genius is
+housed in a veritable tenement of clay, so
+that what is within seems ever at war with
+what is without. At times the antagonism
+is more dreadful still, and the artist-soul is
+sent to dwell in the body of a beast, coarse
+in speech and habit, ignorant and dull in
+mind, vile and unclean in thought. But sometimes
+Nature is generous, and makes the
+body itself an expression of the informing
+spirit. Mendelssohn was one of these almost
+rare instances. In him, artist and man were
+like a beautiful picture appropriately framed.
+He was then thirty-one. In figure he was
+slim and rather below the middle height, and
+he moved with the easy grace of an accomplished
+dancer. Masses of long dark hair
+crowned his finely chiselled face; but what I
+noticed first and last was the pair of lustrous,
+dark brown eyes that glowed and dilated with
+every deep emotion. He had the quiet,
+assured manner of a master; yet I was not
+so instantly conscious of that, as of an air of
+reverence and benignity, which, combined
+with the somewhat Oriental tendency of feature
+and colour, made his whole personality
+suggest that of a young poet-prophet of Israel.</p>
+
+<p>"So," he said, his English gaining piquancy
+from his slight lisp, "you come from England&mdash;from
+dear England. I love your country
+greatly. It has fog, and it is dark, too, for
+the sun forgets to shine at times; but it is
+beautiful&mdash;like a picture, and when it smiles,
+what land is sweeter?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have many admirers in England,
+sir," I replied; "perhaps I may rather say
+you have many friends there."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said, with a bright smile, "call
+them friends, for I am a friend to all
+England. Even in the glowing sun of Italy
+I have thought with pleasure of your dear,
+smoky London, which seems to wrap itself
+round one like a friendly cloak. It was
+England that gave me my first recognition as
+a serious musician, when Berlin was merely
+inclined to think that I was an interesting
+young prodigy with musical gifts that were
+very amusing in a young person of means."</p>
+
+<p>"You have seen much of England, have
+you not, sir?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"A great deal," he replied, "and of
+Scotland and Wales, too. I have heard the
+Highland pipers in Edinburgh, and I have stood
+in Queen Mary's tragic palace of Holyrood.
+Yes, and I have been among the beautiful hills
+that the great Sir Walter has described so
+wonderfully."</p>
+
+<p>"And," I added, "music-lovers do not
+need to be told that you have also penetrated<br />
+<span class="ind4">'The silence of the seas</span><br />
+<span class="ind4">&nbsp;Among the farthest Hebrides.'"</span>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" he said, smiling, "you like my
+Overture, then?"</p>
+
+<p>I hastened to assure him that I admired it
+greatly; and he continued, with glowing eyes:
+"What a wonder is the Fingal's Cave&mdash;that
+vast cathedral of the seas, with its dark, lapping
+waters within, and the brightness of the
+gleaming waves outside!"</p>
+
+<p>Almost instinctively he sat down at the
+piano, and began to play, as if his feelings must
+express themselves in tones rather than words.
+His playing was most remarkable for its
+orchestral quality. Unsuspected power lay in
+those delicate hands, for at will they seemed
+able to draw from the piano a full orchestral
+volume, and to suggest, if desired, the peculiar
+tones of solo instruments.</p>
+
+<p>This Overture of his is made of the
+sounds of the sea. There is first a theme
+that suggests the monotonous wash of the
+waters and the crying of sea-birds within
+the vast spaces of the cavern. Then follows a
+noble rising passage, as if the spirit of the place
+were ascending from the depths of the sea and
+pervading with his presence the immensity of
+his ocean fane. This, in its turn, is succeeded
+by a movement that seems to carry us into the
+brightness outside, though still the plaint of
+crying birds pursues us in haunting monotony.
+It is a wonderful piece, this Hebrides Overture,
+with all the magic and the mystery of the
+Islands about it.</p>
+
+<p>"That is but one of my Scottish impressions,"
+said Mendelssohn; "I have many more,
+and I am trying to weave them into a Scottish
+Symphony to match the Italian."</p>
+
+<p>"You believe in a programme then?"
+I asked.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img6.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img6.jpg" height="550"
+      alt="SPRING SONG" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <span class="caption"><i><small>Painting by N. M. Price.</small></i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;SPRING SONG (Lied Ohne <ins title="original has W&ouml;rte">Worte</ins>).<br />
+         Click to <a href="images/img6.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>"To think of it is to be happy with the innocence of pure joy."</small></td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>"Oh, yes!" he answered; "moreover I
+believe that most composers have a programme
+implicit in their minds, even though they may
+not recognise it. But always one must keep
+within the limits of the principle inscribed by
+Beethoven at the head of his Pastoral Symphony,
+'More an expression of the feelings than a
+painting.' Music cannot paint. It is on a
+different plane of time. A painting must leap
+to the eye, but a musical piece unfolds itself
+slowly. If music tries to paint it loses its
+greatest glory&mdash;the power of infinite, immeasurable
+suggestion. Beethoven, quite allowably,
+and in a purely humorous fashion, used a few
+touches of realism; but his Pastoral Symphony
+is not a painting, it is not even descriptive; it is
+a musical outpouring of emotion, and enshrines
+within its notes all the sweet peaceful brightness
+of an early summer day. To think of it," he
+added, rising in his enthusiasm, "is to be happy
+with the innocence of pure joy."</p>
+
+<p>I was relieved of the necessity of replying
+by a diversion without the door. Two male
+voices were heard declaiming in a sort of mock-melodramatic
+duet, "Are you at home, are you
+at home? May we enter, may we enter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Come in, you noisy fellows," exclaimed
+Mendelssohn gaily; and two men entered.
+The elder, who was of Mendelssohn's age,
+carried a violin case, and saluted the composer
+with a flourish of the music held in his other
+hand. "Hail you second Beethoven!" he
+exclaimed. Suddenly he observed my presence
+and hushed his demonstrations, giving me a
+courteous, and humorously penitent salutation.
+Mendelssohn introduced us.</p>
+
+<p>"This," he said to me "is Mr. Ferdinand
+David, the great violinist and leader of our
+orchestra; and this," indicating the younger
+visitor, "is a countryman of yours, Mr.
+Sterndale Bennett. We think a great deal of
+Mr. Bennett in Leipzig."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, ha!" said David to me; "you've
+come to the right house in Leipzig if you're an
+Englishman. Mendelssohn dotes on you all,
+doesn't he, Bennett?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Bennett, "and we dote on
+him. I left all the young ladies in England
+singing 'Ist es wahr.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Ist es wahr? ist es wahr?" carolled
+David, in lady-like falsetto, with comic exaggeration
+of anguish sentiment.</p>
+
+<p>Bennett put his hands to his ears with an
+expression of anguish, saying, "Spare us,
+David; you play like an angel, but you sing
+like&mdash;well, I leave it to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"And I forgot to mention," said Mendelssohn
+with a gay laugh, "that our young
+English visitor is a singer bringing ecstatic
+recommendations from Klingemann."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! a rival!" said David, with a
+dramatic gesture; "but since we're all of a
+trade, perhaps our friend will show he doesn't
+mind my nonsense by singing this song to us."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mendelssohn, with a graceful
+gesture, "I shall be greatly pleased if
+you will."</p>
+
+<p>I could not refuse. Mendelssohn sat
+down at the piano and I began the simple
+song that has helped so many English people
+to appreciate the beauties of the German <i>lied</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left">"Can it be? Can it be?</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Dost thou wander through the bower,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Wishing I was there with thee?</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Lonely, midst the moonlight's splendour,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Dost thou seek for me?</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Can it be? Say!</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">But the secret rapturous feeling</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Ne'er in words must be betrayed;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">True eyes will tell what love conceals!"</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Thank you very much," said Mendelssohn
+with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo!" exclaimed David; "but our
+Mendelssohn can do more than make pretty
+songs. This," he continued, indicating the
+music he had brought, "is going to be something
+great!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think so?" asked Mendelssohn
+quietly, yet with eyes that gleamed intensely.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure of it," said David emphatically.
+"There is plenty of music for violin and
+orchestra&mdash;oceans of it; but there has been
+hitherto only one real great big Concerto,"&mdash;he
+spread his arms wide as he spoke. "Now
+there will be two."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" exclaimed Mendelssohn
+quickly; "if I finish this Concerto it will be
+with no impious intention of competing with
+Beethoven. You see, for one thing, I have
+begun it quite differently."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," nodded David, and he began to
+drum on the table in the rhythm of Beethoven's
+fateful knocking at the door; "yes,
+Beethoven was before all a symphonist&mdash;his
+Concerto is a Symphony in D major with
+violin obbligato."</p>
+
+<p>"Observe," murmured Bennett, "the
+blessing of a musical temperament. A
+drunken man thumps monotonously at his
+door in the depths of night. To an Englishman
+it suggests calling the police; to Beethoven
+it suggests a symphony."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, David," said Mendelssohn, "it's
+to be your Concerto, so I want you to discuss
+it with me in all details. I am the most
+devoted admirer of your playing, but I have,
+as well, the sincerest respect for your
+musicianship."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said David with a smile
+of deep pleasure; and turning to me he
+added, "I really called to play this over
+with the master. Shall you mind if I scratch
+it through?"</p>
+
+<p>I tried to assure him of the abiding
+pleasure that I, a young stranger, would
+receive from being honoured by permission
+to remain.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's all right," he said unaffectedly;
+"we are all in the trade, you
+know; you sing, I play."</p>
+
+<p>Mendelssohn sat at the piano and David
+tuned his instrument. Mendelssohn used no
+copy. His memory was prodigious. The
+violin gave out a beautiful melody that soared
+passionately, yet gracefully, above an accompaniment,
+simple at first, but growing gradually
+more intense and insistent till a great climax
+was reached, after which the solo voice sank
+slowly to a low, whispering murmur, while
+the piano played above it a succession of
+sweetly delicate and graceful phrases. The
+movement was worked out with the utmost
+complexity and brilliance, but came suddenly
+to an end. The playing of the two masters
+was beyond description.</p>
+
+<p>"The cadenza is subject to infinite alteration,"
+remarked Mendelssohn; and turning to
+me, he continued, "the movement is unfinished,
+you see; and even what is written
+may be greatly changed. I fear I am a
+fastidious corrector. I am rarely satisfied with
+my first thoughts."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't think much change is
+wanted here," said David. "I'm longing to
+have the rest of it. When will it be ready?"</p>
+
+<p>Mendelssohn shook his head with a smile.
+"Ask me for it in five years, David."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of it, Bennett?" asked
+the violinist.</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking that we are in the garden
+of Eden," said Bennett, oracularly.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" asked Mendelssohn.</p>
+
+<p>"This," explained Bennett: "there seems to
+me something essentially and exquisitely
+feminine about this movement, just as in
+Beethoven's Concerto there is something essentially
+and heroically masculine. In other words,
+he has made the Adam of Concertos, and you
+have mated it with the Eve. Henceforth," he
+continued, waving his hands in benediction,
+"the tribe of Violin Concertos shall increase and
+multiply and become as the stars of heaven in
+multitude."</p>
+
+<p>"The more the merrier," cried David, "at
+least for fiddlers&mdash;I don't know what the
+audiences will think."</p>
+
+<p>"Audiences don't think&mdash;at least, not in
+England," said Bennett.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come!" interposed Mendelssohn;
+and turning to me with a smile he said, "Will
+you allow Mr. Bennett to slander your countrymen
+like this?"</p>
+
+<p>"But Mr. Bennett doesn't mean it," I
+replied; "he knows that English audiences love,
+and are always faithful to, what stirs them
+deeply."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but what does stir them deeply?" he
+asked; "look at the enormous popularity of
+senseless sentimental songs."</p>
+
+<p>"On the other hand," I retorted, "look at
+our old affection for Handel and our new
+affection for Mr. Mendelssohn himself."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Mendelssohn, with a
+smile; "Handel is certainly yours by adoption.
+You English love the Bible, and Handel knew
+well how to wed its beautiful words to noble
+music. He was happy in having at his command
+the magnificent prose of the Bible and the
+magnificent verses of Milton. I, too, am fascinated
+by the noble language of the Scriptures,
+and I have used it both in the vernacular and in
+the sounding Latin of the Vulgate. And I am
+haunted even now by the words of one of the
+Psalms which seem to call for an appropriate
+setting. You recall the verses?</p>
+
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="noindent">"Hear my prayer; O God;<br />
+&nbsp;and hide not thyself from my petition.<br /><br />
+
+&nbsp;Take heed unto me, and hear me,<br />
+&nbsp;how I mourn in my prayer and am vexed.<br /><br />
+
+&nbsp;The enemy crieth so, and the ungodly
+cometh on so fast;<br />
+&nbsp;for they are minded
+to do me some mischief,<br />
+&nbsp;so maliciously are
+they set against me.<br /><br />
+
+&nbsp;My heart is disquieted within me;<br />
+&nbsp;and the fear of death is fallen upon me.<br /><br />
+
+&nbsp;Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me;<br />
+&nbsp;and a horrible dread hath overwhelmed me.<br /><br />
+
+&nbsp;And I said, O that I had wings like a dove;<br />
+&nbsp;for then would I flee away, and be at rest.<br /><br />
+
+&nbsp;Lo, then would I get me away far off;<br />
+&nbsp;and remain in the wilderness.<br />
+
+&nbsp;I would make haste to escape;<br />
+&nbsp;because of the stormy wind and tempest."
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>"Yes," said David, nodding emphatically;
+"they are wonderful words; you must certainly
+set them."</p>
+
+<p>"The Bible is an inexhaustible mine of song
+and story for musical setting," continued
+Mendelssohn; "I have one of its stories in my
+mind now; but only one man, a greater even
+than Handel, was worthy to touch the supreme
+tragedy of all."</p>
+
+<p>The last words were murmured as if to
+himself rather than to us, and he accompanied
+them abstractedly with tentative, prelusive
+chords, which gradually grew into the most
+strangely moving music I have ever heard.</p>
+
+<p>Its complex, swelling phrases presently
+drew together and rose up in one great major
+chord. No one spoke. I felt as if some
+mighty spirit had been evoked and that its
+unseen presence overshadowed us.</p>
+
+<p>"What was it?" I presently whispered to
+Bennett; but he shook his head and said,
+"Wait; he will tell you."</p>
+
+<p>At length I turned to Mendelssohn and
+said, "Is that part of the new work of yours
+you mentioned just now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of mine!" he exclaimed; "of mine!
+I could never write such music. No, no!
+That was Bach, John Sebastian Bach&mdash;part
+of his St. Matthew Passion. I was playing
+not so much the actual notes of any chorus,
+but rather the effect of certain passages as I
+could feel them in my mind."</p>
+
+<p>"So that was by Bach!" I said in wonder.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mendelssohn; "and people
+know so little of him. They either think of
+him as the composer of mathematical exercises
+in music, or else they confuse him
+with others of his family. He was Cantor
+of the St. Thomas School here in Leipzig,
+the perfect type of a true servant of our
+glorious art. He wrote incessantly, but the
+greatest of his works lay forgotten after his
+death; and it was I, I, who disinterred this
+marvellous music-drama of the Passion, and
+gave it in Berlin ten years ago&mdash;its first performance
+since Bach's death almost a century
+before. But there," he added, with an apologetic
+smile, "I talk too much! Let us speak
+of something else."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said David, "you will talk of
+Bach for ever if no one stops you. Not that
+I mind. I am a disciple, too."</p>
+
+<p>"And I, too," added Bennett. "I mean
+to emulate Mendelssohn. He was the first
+to give the 'Passion' in Germany, I will be
+the first to give it in England."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll be recording angel," said
+David, "and register your vow. You'll show
+him up, if he breaks his word, won't you?"
+he added, turning to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Now this will really change the subject,"
+said Mendelssohn, producing a sheet of
+manuscript. "Here is a little song I wrote
+last year to some old verses. Perhaps our
+new friend will let us hear it."</p>
+
+<p>In great trepidation I took the sheet. It
+was headed simply "Volkslied." I saw at
+once that there would be no difficulty in
+reading it, for the music was both <ins title="original has grateful">graceful</ins>
+and simple.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we try?" asked Mendelssohn,
+with his quiet, reassuring smile.</p>
+
+<p>"If you are willing to let me," I
+answered.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="center"><i>Parting.</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"It is decreed by heaven's behest</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">That man from all he loves the best</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Must sever.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">That soon or late with breaking heart</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">With all his dear ones he must part</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">For ever.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left">How oft we cull a budding flower,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">To see it bloom a transient hour;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">'Tis gathered.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">The bud becomes a lovely rose,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Its morning blush at evening goes;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">'Tis withered.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left">And has it pleased our God to lend</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">His cheering smile in child or friend?</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">To-morrow&mdash;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">To-morrow if reclaimed again</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">The parting hour will prove how vain</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Is sorrow.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left">Oft hope beguiles the friends who part;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">With happy smiles, and heart to heart,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">'To meet,' they cry, 'we sever.'</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">It proves good-bye for ever</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">For ever!"</span></td></tr>
+
+</table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img7.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img7.jpg" height="550"
+      alt="PARTING" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <span class="caption"><i><small>Painting by N. M. Price.</small></i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;PARTING.<br />
+       Click to <a href="images/img7.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>"It is decreed by heaven's behest</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>&nbsp;That man from all he loves the best</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center" valign="top"><small>Must sever."</small></td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo!" cried Bennett.</p>
+
+<p>"Say rather, 'Bravi,'" said David, "for
+the song was as sweet as the singer."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Bennett; "the simple repetition
+of the closing words of each verse is
+like a sigh of regret."</p>
+
+<p>"And the whole thing," added David,
+"has the genuine simplicity of the true folk-melody."</p>
+
+<p>Further discussion was prevented by a
+characteristic knock at the door.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor who entered in response to
+Mendelssohn's call was a sturdily built man
+of thirty, or thereabouts, with an air of
+mingled courage, resolution, and good humour.
+His long straight hair was brushed back from
+a broad, intellectual brow, and his thoughtful,
+far-looking eyes intensified the impression he
+gave of force and original power. He smiled
+humorously. "All the youth, beauty and
+intellect of Leipzig in one room. I leave you
+to apportion the qualities. Making much noise,
+too! And did I hear the strains of a vocal
+recital?"</p>
+
+<p>"You did," replied Bennett; "that was
+my young countryman here, who has just
+been singing a new song of Mendelssohn's."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me," said the new-comer to
+me; "you see Mendelssohn so fills the stage
+everywhere, that even David gets over-*looked
+sometimes, don't you, my inspired
+fiddler?" he added, slapping the violinist
+on the back.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes I do," said David, "and so do the
+manners of all of you, for no one introduces our
+singer;" and turning to me he added, "this is
+Mr. Robert Schumann who divides the musical
+firmament of Leipzig with Mendelssohn."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget to add," said Mendelssohn,
+"that Schumann conquers in literature as well
+as in music. No one has written better musical
+critiques."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," grumbled David; "I wish he
+wouldn't do so much of it. If he scribbled less
+he'd compose more. The cobbler should stick
+to his last, and the musician shouldn't relinquish
+the music-pen for the goose quill."</p>
+
+<p>"But what of Mendelssohn himself," urged
+Schumann; "he, in a special sense, is a man of
+letters; for if there's one thing as good as being
+with him, it is being away from him, and
+receiving his delightful epistles."</p>
+
+<p>"Not the same thing," said David, shaking
+his head.</p>
+
+<p>"And then," said Schumann, waving his
+hand comprehensively around the room,
+"observe his works of art."</p>
+
+<p>I was about to express my astonishment at
+finding that Mendelssohn himself had produced
+these admirable pictures; but David suddenly
+addressed me: "By the way, don't let
+Mendelssohn decoy you into playing billiards
+with him; or if you do weakly yield, insist on
+fifty in the hundred&mdash;unless, of course, you have
+misspent your time, too, in gaining disreputable
+proficiency;" and he shook his head at the
+thought of many defeats.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," exclaimed Schumann, "Mendelssohn
+does all things well."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a handsome admission from a
+rival," said David.</p>
+
+<p>"A rival!" answered Schumann with
+spirit. "There can be no talk of rivalry
+between us. I know my place. Mendelssohn
+and I differ about things, sometimes; but who
+could quarrel with him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I could!" exclaimed David, jumping up,
+and striking an heroic attitude.</p>
+
+<p>"You!" laughed Schumann; "You
+quarrel, you dear old scraper of unmentionable
+strings!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, ha! my boy," chuckled David,
+"you can't write for them."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean I don't write for them," said
+Schumann; "I admit that I don't provide
+much for you to do. I leave that to my
+betters."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind," said David, giving his
+shoulder a friendly pat; "at least you can
+write for the piano. I believe in you, and
+your queer music."</p>
+
+<p>"That's nice of you, David," replied
+Schumann, "but as to Mendelssohn and me,
+who shall decide which of us is right? He
+believes in making music as pellucid to the
+hearers as clear water. Now I like to baffle
+them&mdash;to leave them something to struggle
+with. Music is never the worse for being
+obscure at first."</p>
+
+<p>Mendelssohn shook his head and smiled.
+"You state your case eloquently, Schumann,"
+he said, "but my feelings revolt against darkness
+and indefiniteness."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," assented Schumann; "you
+are the Fairies' Laureate."</p>
+
+<p>"Hear, hear!" cried David. "Now
+could anything be finer in its way than the
+Midsummer Night's Dream music? And the
+wondrous brat wrote it at seventeen!"</p>
+
+<p>Mendelssohn laughingly acknowledged the
+compliments.</p>
+
+<p>"That is a beautiful fairy song of yours,"
+I said, "the one to Heine's verses about the
+fairies riding their tiny steeds through the
+wood."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," said Schumann; "will you
+sing it to us?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid it requires much lighter
+singing than I can give it," I replied; "but
+I will try, if you wish."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall all be glad if you will," said
+Mendelssohn, as he turned once more to the
+key-board. The bright staccato rhythm
+flashed out from his fingers so gaily that I
+was swept into the song without time for
+hesitation:</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="center"><i>The Fairy Love.</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"Through the woods the moon was glancing;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;There I saw the Fays advancing;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;On they bounded, gaily singing,<br /></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Horns resounded, bells were ringing.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Tiny steeds with antlers growing</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;On their foreheads brightly glowing,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Bore them swift as falcons speeding</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Fly to strike the game receding.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Passing, Queen Titania sweetly</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Deigned with nods and smiles to greet me.</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Means this, love will be requited?</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Or, will hope by death be blighted?"</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>"You have greatly obliged us," said
+Schumann courteously.</p>
+
+<p>"It reminds me, though I don't know
+why," said David, "of that fairy-like duet
+about Jack Frost and the dancing flowers."</p>
+
+<p>"Come along and play it with me," said
+Mendelssohn to Bennett; "you've been
+hiding your talents all day."</p>
+
+<p>Bennett joined him at the piano, and the
+two began to romp like schoolboys.</p>
+
+<p>The simple duet was woven into a brilliant
+fantasia, but always in the gay spring-like spirit
+of the poem.</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img8.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img8.jpg" height="550"
+      alt="THE FAIRY LOVE" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <span class="caption"><i><small>Painting by N. M. Price.</small></i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;THE FAIRY LOVE.<br />
+       Click to <a href="images/img8.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>"Through the woods the moon was glancing</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="ind2"><small>There I saw the fays advancing.</small></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>Tiny steeds with antlers growing</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="ind2"><small>on their foreheads brightly glowing."</small></span></td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td><i>The Maybells and the Flowers.</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"Young Maybells ring throughout the vale</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">And sound so sweet and clear,</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">The dance begins, ye flowers all,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">Come with a merry cheer!</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">The flowers red and white and blue</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">Merrily flock around,</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Forget-me-nots of heavenly hue,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">And violets, too, abound.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left">Young Maybells play a sprightly tune,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">And all begin to dance,</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">While o'er them smiles the gentle moon,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">With her soft silvery glance.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">This Master Frost offended sore;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">He in the vale appeared:</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Young Maybells ring the dance no more&mdash;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">Gone are the flowers seared!</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left">But Frost has scarcely taken flight,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">When well-known sounds we hear:</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">The Maybells with renewed delight,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">Are ringing doubly clear!</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Now I no more can stay at home,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">The Maybells call me so:</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">The flowers to the dance all roam,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">Then why should I not go?"</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Really," said David; "it's quite infectious";
+and jumping up he began to pirouette,
+exclaiming, "Then why should I not go!"</p>
+
+<p>"David, this is unseemly," exclaimed
+Schumann, with mock severity. "There's
+another pretty fairy-like piece of yours,
+Mendelssohn, the Capriccio in E minor."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Bennett, beginning to touch
+its opening fanfare of tiny trumpet-notes;
+"someone told me a pretty story of this
+piece, to the effect that a young lady gave you
+some flowers, and you undertook, gallantly,
+to write the music the Fairies played on the
+little trumpet-like blooms."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mendelssohn, with a smile,
+"it was in Wales, and I wrote the piece for
+Miss Taylor."</p>
+
+<p>"By-the-by," said Schumann, "David's
+antics remind me that Mendelssohn can
+make Witches and other queer creatures,
+dance, as well as Fairies."</p>
+
+<p>"Villain," exclaimed David, and he began
+to recite dramatically the invocation from the
+"First Walpurgis Night," while Mendelssohn
+played the flashing accompaniment.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left">"Come with flappers,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Fire and clappers;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Hop with hopsticks,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Brooms and mopsticks;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Through the night-gloom lead and follow</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;In and out each rocky hollow.</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Owls and ravens</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;Howl with us and scare the cravens."</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Mendelssohn, "I don't think
+the old poet would really have cared for my
+setting, though he admired my playing, and
+was always most friendly to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Schumann, warmly; "Goethe
+liked you because you were successful, and
+prosperous. Now Beethoven was poor:
+therefore Beethoven must first be loftily
+patronised and then contemptuously snubbed.
+I can never forgive Goethe for that. And
+as for poor Schubert, well, Goethe ignored
+him, and actually thought he had misinterpreted
+the Erl-king! It would be comic if it
+were not painful."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Schubert!" said Mendelssohn
+with a sigh; "he met always Fortune's frown,
+never her smile."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think," said Bennett, "that
+his genius was the better for his poverty&mdash;that
+he learned in suffering what he taught
+in song?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I do not!" replied Mendelssohn
+warmly. "That is a vile doctrine invented
+by a callous world to excuse its cruelty."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe there's something in it, though,"
+said Bennett.</p>
+
+<p>"There is some truth in it, but not
+much," answered Mendelssohn, his eyes flashing
+as he spoke. "It is true that the artist
+learns by suffering, because the artist is
+more sensitive and feels more deeply than
+others. But enough of suffering comes to all
+of us, even the most fortunate, without the
+sordid, gratuitous misery engendered by
+poverty."</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with Mendelssohn," said Schumann.
+"To say that poverty is the proper
+stimulus of genius is to talk pernicious nonsense.
+Poverty slays, it does not nourish;
+poverty narrows the vision, it does not
+ennoble; poverty lowers the moral standard
+and makes a man sordid. You can't get
+good art out of that."</p>
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img9.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img9.jpg" height="550"
+      alt="THE MAYBELLS AND THE FLOWERS" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <span class="caption"><i><small>Painting by N. M. Price.</small></i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;THE MAYBELLS AND
+THE FLOWERS.<br />
+       Click to <a href="images/img9.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>"Now I no more can stay at home.</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="ind1"><small>The Maybells call me so.</small></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>The flowers to the dance all roam,</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="ind1"><small>Then, why should I not go?"</small></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I have been more fortunate than
+most artists," said Mendelssohn softly. "When
+I think of all that my dear father and mother
+did for us, I can scarcely restrain tears of
+gratitude. Almost more valuable than their
+careful encouragement was their noble, serious
+common-sense. My mother, whom Heaven
+long preserve to me, was not the woman to let
+me, or any of us, live in a fool's paradise, and
+my dear dead father was too good a man of
+business to set me walking in a blind alley.
+Ah!" he continued, with glistening eyes, "the
+great musical times we had in the dear old
+Berlin house!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said David; "Your house was on
+the Leipzig Road. You see, even then, the
+finger of fate pointed the way to this place."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed," said Schumann, with a sigh,
+"You certainly had extraordinary opportunities.
+Not that I've been badly used, though."</p>
+
+<p>"Your father was genuinely proud of you,"
+said David. "I remember his epigram: 'Once
+I was the son of my father; now I am the
+father of my son.'"</p>
+
+<p>Mendelssohn nodded with a smile, and,
+turning to me, said in explanation, "You must
+know that my father's father was a famous
+philosopher."</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" said Schumann, rising, "I must
+be going."</p>
+
+<p>Bennett and David also prepared to leave,
+and I rose with them.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a moment," said Mendelssohn; and
+going to the door he called softly, "Cecile, are
+you there?"</p>
+
+<p>He went out for a moment, and returned
+with a beautiful and charming girl, who greeted
+the three visitors warmly.</p>
+
+<p>Mendelssohn then presented me, saying,
+gently and almost proudly, "This is my wife."</p>
+
+<p>I bowed deeply.</p>
+
+<p>"You are from England?" said the lady,
+with the sweetest of smiles; "I declare I am
+quite jealous of your country, my husband loves
+it so much."</p>
+
+<p>"We are very proud of his affection," I
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>She turned to Schumann and said softly,
+"And how is Clara?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she is well;" he replied with a glad
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>"And the father?" she added.</p>
+
+<p>"We have been much worried," he said
+gravely; "but we shall marry this year in
+spite of all he may do."</p>
+
+<p>"She is worth all your struggles," said
+Mendelssohn warmly; "she is a charming lady,
+and an excellent musician. You will be very
+happy."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, thanks," replied Schumann, with
+evident pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>Mendelssohn turned to me and shook
+my hand warmly. "I have been glad to meet
+you, and to hear you; for you sing like a
+musician. I shall not say good-bye. You will
+call again, I hope, before you leave Leipzig.
+Perhaps we may meet, too, in England. I am
+now writing something that I hope my English
+friends will like."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, sir?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"It is an oratorio on the subject of
+Elijah," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"It is bound to be good," said Schumann
+enthusiastically. "Posterity will call you the
+man who never failed."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Mendelssohn almost sadly,
+"you are all good and kind, but you praise me
+too much. Perhaps posterity will remember
+me for my little pieces rather than for my
+greater efforts. Perhaps it will remember me
+best, not as the master, but as the servant; for
+in my way I have tried very hard to glorify the
+great men who went before me&mdash;Bach, Mozart,
+Beethoven, Schubert&mdash;Bach most of all. Even
+if every note of my writing should perish,
+perhaps future generations will think kindly of
+me, remembering that it was I, the Jew by
+birth, who gave back to Christianity that
+imperishable setting of its tragedy and glory."</p>
+
+<p>With these words in my ears I passed out
+into the pleasant streets of Mendelssohn's
+chosen city.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h6><i>Printed by The Bushey Colour Press (Andr&eacute; &amp; Sleigh, Ltd.).</i><br />
+<i>Bushey, Herts.</i></h6>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table class="sm" border="0" style="background-color: #E6E6FA; margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Amendments">
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2">
+<div class="center">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</div>
+
+<p class="noindent" style="background-color: #E6E6FA">Contemporary spellings have been retained even
+when inconsistent. In a small number of cases, missing punctuation has been silently added.<br />
+<br />
+The following additional changes have been made; they can be identified
+in the body of the text by a grey dotted underline:</p>
+</td>
+ </tr>
+  <tr>
+	 <td valign="top">Lied ohne W&ouml;rte</td>
+	 <td valign="top">Lied ohne <i>Worte</i></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+	 <td valign="top">grateful and simple</td>
+	 <td valign="top"><i>graceful</i> and simple</td>
+ </tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, by 
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, by George Sampson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
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+
+Title: A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy
+
+Author: George Sampson
+
+Release Date: July 9, 2009 [EBook #29361]
+
+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH FELIX MENDELSSOHN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._  FIRST WALPURGIS NIGHT.
+   "Through the night-gloom lead and follow
+         In and out each rocky hollow."]
+
+
+
+
+A DAY WITH FELIX
+MENDELSSOHN
+BARTHOLDY
+
+BY GEORGE SAMPSON
+
+
+HODDER & STOUGHTON
+
+
+ _In the same Series._
+ _Beethoven._
+ _Schubert._
+
+
+
+
+A DAY WITH MENDELSSOHN.
+
+
+During the year 1840 I visited Leipzig with letters of introduction from
+Herr Klingemann of the Hanoverian Legation in London. I was a singer,
+young, enthusiastic, and eager--as some singers unfortunately are
+not--to be a musician as well. Klingemann had many friends among the
+famous German composers, because of his personal charm, and because his
+simple verses had provided them with excellent material for the sweet
+little songs the Germans love so well. I need scarcely say that the man
+I most desired to meet in Leipzig was Mendelssohn; and so, armed
+with Klingemann's letter, I eagerly went to his residence--a quiet,
+well-appointed house near the Promenade. I was admitted without delay,
+and shown into the composer's room. It was plainly a musician's
+work-room, yet it had a note of elegance that surprised me. Musicians
+are not a tidy race; but here there was none of the admired disorder
+that one instinctively associates with an artist's sanctum. There was no
+litter. The well-used pianoforte could be approached without circuitous
+negotiation of a rampart of books and papers, and the chairs were free
+from encumbrances. On a table stood some large sketch-books, one open
+at a page containing an excellent landscape drawing; and other spirited
+sketches hung framed upon the walls. The abundant music paper was perhaps
+the most strangely tidy feature of the room, for the exquisitely neat
+notation that covered it suggested the work of a careful copyist rather
+than the original hand of a composer. I could not refrain from looking
+at one piece. It was a very short and very simple Adagio cantabile in
+the Key of F for a solo pianoforte. It appealed at once to me as a
+singer, for its quiet, unaffected melody seemed made to be sung rather
+than to be played. The "cantabile" of its heading was superfluous--it
+was a Song without Words, evidently one of a new set, for I knew it was
+none of the old. But the sound of a footstep startled me and I guiltily
+replaced the sheet. The door opened, and I was warmly greeted in
+excellent English by the man who entered. I had no need to be told that
+it was Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy himself.
+
+Nature is strangely freakish in her choice of instruments for noble
+purposes. Sometimes the delicate spirit of creative genius is housed in
+a veritable tenement of clay, so that what is within seems ever at war
+with what is without. At times the antagonism is more dreadful still,
+and the artist-soul is sent to dwell in the body of a beast, coarse
+in speech and habit, ignorant and dull in mind, vile and unclean in
+thought. But sometimes Nature is generous, and makes the body itself an
+expression of the informing spirit. Mendelssohn was one of these almost
+rare instances. In him, artist and man were like a beautiful picture
+appropriately framed. He was then thirty-one. In figure he was slim and
+rather below the middle height, and he moved with the easy grace of
+an accomplished dancer. Masses of long dark hair crowned his finely
+chiselled face; but what I noticed first and last was the pair of
+lustrous, dark brown eyes that glowed and dilated with every deep
+emotion. He had the quiet, assured manner of a master; yet I was not so
+instantly conscious of that, as of an air of reverence and benignity,
+which, combined with the somewhat Oriental tendency of feature and
+colour, made his whole personality suggest that of a young poet-prophet
+of Israel.
+
+"So," he said, his English gaining piquancy from his slight lisp, "you
+come from England--from dear England. I love your country greatly. It
+has fog, and it is dark, too, for the sun forgets to shine at times;
+but it is beautiful--like a picture, and when it smiles, what land is
+sweeter?"
+
+"You have many admirers in England, sir," I replied; "perhaps I may
+rather say you have many friends there."
+
+"Yes," he said, with a bright smile, "call them friends, for I am a
+friend to all England. Even in the glowing sun of Italy I have thought
+with pleasure of your dear, smoky London, which seems to wrap itself
+round one like a friendly cloak. It was England that gave me my first
+recognition as a serious musician, when Berlin was merely inclined to
+think that I was an interesting young prodigy with musical gifts that
+were very amusing in a young person of means."
+
+"You have seen much of England, have you not, sir?" I asked.
+
+"A great deal," he replied, "and of Scotland and Wales, too. I have
+heard the Highland pipers in Edinburgh, and I have stood in Queen Mary's
+tragic palace of Holyrood. Yes, and I have been among the beautiful
+hills that the great Sir Walter has described so wonderfully."
+
+"And," I added, "music-lovers do not need to be told that you have also
+penetrated
+
+ 'The silence of the seas
+  Among the farthest Hebrides.'"
+
+"Ah!" he said, smiling, "you like my Overture, then?"
+
+I hastened to assure him that I admired it greatly; and he continued,
+with glowing eyes: "What a wonder is the Fingal's Cave--that vast
+cathedral of the seas, with its dark, lapping waters within, and the
+brightness of the gleaming waves outside!"
+
+Almost instinctively he sat down at the piano, and began to play, as
+if his feelings must express themselves in tones rather than words. His
+playing was most remarkable for its orchestral quality. Unsuspected
+power lay in those delicate hands, for at will they seemed able to draw
+from the piano a full orchestral volume, and to suggest, if desired, the
+peculiar tones of solo instruments.
+
+This Overture of his is made of the sounds of the sea. There is first a
+theme that suggests the monotonous wash of the waters and the crying of
+sea-birds within the vast spaces of the cavern. Then follows a noble
+rising passage, as if the spirit of the place were ascending from the
+depths of the sea and pervading with his presence the immensity of his
+ocean fane. This, in its turn, is succeeded by a movement that seems to
+carry us into the brightness outside, though still the plaint of crying
+birds pursues us in haunting monotony. It is a wonderful piece, this
+Hebrides Overture, with all the magic and the mystery of the Islands
+about it.
+
+"That is but one of my Scottish impressions," said Mendelssohn; "I have
+many more, and I am trying to weave them into a Scottish Symphony to
+match the Italian."
+
+"You believe in a programme then?" I asked.
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._ SPRING SONG (Lied Ohne Worte)
+   "To think of it is to be happy with the innocence of pure joy."]
+
+"Oh, yes!" he answered; "moreover I believe that most composers have a
+programme implicit in their minds, even though they may not recognise
+it. But always one must keep within the limits of the principle
+inscribed by Beethoven at the head of his Pastoral Symphony, 'More an
+expression of the feelings than a painting.' Music cannot paint. It is
+on a different plane of time. A painting must leap to the eye, but a
+musical piece unfolds itself slowly. If music tries to paint it loses
+its greatest glory--the power of infinite, immeasurable suggestion.
+Beethoven, quite allowably, and in a purely humorous fashion, used a
+few touches of realism; but his Pastoral Symphony is not a painting,
+it is not even descriptive; it is a musical outpouring of emotion, and
+enshrines within its notes all the sweet peaceful brightness of an early
+summer day. To think of it," he added, rising in his enthusiasm, "is to
+be happy with the innocence of pure joy."
+
+I was relieved of the necessity of replying by a diversion without the
+door. Two male voices were heard declaiming in a sort of
+mock-melodramatic duet, "Are you at home, are you at home? May we enter,
+may we enter?"
+
+"Come in, you noisy fellows," exclaimed Mendelssohn gaily; and two men
+entered. The elder, who was of Mendelssohn's age, carried a violin case,
+and saluted the composer with a flourish of the music held in his other
+hand. "Hail you second Beethoven!" he exclaimed. Suddenly he observed
+my presence and hushed his demonstrations, giving me a courteous, and
+humorously penitent salutation. Mendelssohn introduced us.
+
+"This," he said to me "is Mr. Ferdinand David, the great violinist and
+leader of our orchestra; and this," indicating the younger visitor, "is
+a countryman of yours, Mr. Sterndale Bennett. We think a great deal of
+Mr. Bennett in Leipzig."
+
+"Ah, ha!" said David to me; "you've come to the right house in Leipzig
+if you're an Englishman. Mendelssohn dotes on you all, doesn't he,
+Bennett?"
+
+"Yes," said Bennett, "and we dote on him. I left all the young ladies in
+England singing 'Ist es wahr.'"
+
+"Ist es wahr? ist es wahr?" carolled David, in lady-like falsetto, with
+comic exaggeration of anguish sentiment.
+
+Bennett put his hands to his ears with an expression of anguish, saying,
+"Spare us, David; you play like an angel, but you sing like--well, I
+leave it to you?"
+
+"And I forgot to mention," said Mendelssohn with a gay laugh, "that our
+young English visitor is a singer bringing ecstatic recommendations from
+Klingemann."
+
+"Ah! a rival!" said David, with a dramatic gesture; "but since we're all
+of a trade, perhaps our friend will show he doesn't mind my nonsense by
+singing this song to us."
+
+"Yes," said Mendelssohn, with a graceful gesture, "I shall be greatly
+pleased if you will."
+
+I could not refuse. Mendelssohn sat down at the piano and I began the
+simple song that has helped so many English people to appreciate the
+beauties of the German _lied_.
+
+  "Can it be? Can it be?
+   Dost thou wander through the bower,
+   Wishing I was there with thee?
+   Lonely, midst the moonlight's splendour,
+   Dost thou seek for me?
+   Can it be? Say!
+   But the secret rapturous feeling
+   Ne'er in words must be betrayed;
+   True eyes will tell what love conceals!"
+
+"Thank you very much," said Mendelssohn with a smile.
+
+"Bravo!" exclaimed David; "but our Mendelssohn can do more than make
+pretty songs. This," he continued, indicating the music he had brought,
+"is going to be something great!"
+
+"Do you think so?" asked Mendelssohn quietly, yet with eyes that gleamed
+intensely.
+
+"I'm sure of it," said David emphatically. "There is plenty of music for
+violin and orchestra--oceans of it; but there has been hitherto only one
+real great big Concerto,"--he spread his arms wide as he spoke. "Now
+there will be two."
+
+"No, no!" exclaimed Mendelssohn quickly; "if I finish this Concerto it
+will be with no impious intention of competing with Beethoven. You see,
+for one thing, I have begun it quite differently."
+
+"Yes," nodded David, and he began to drum on the table in the rhythm of
+Beethoven's fateful knocking at the door; "yes, Beethoven was before all
+a symphonist--his Concerto is a Symphony in D major with violin
+obbligato."
+
+"Observe," murmured Bennett, "the blessing of a musical temperament. A
+drunken man thumps monotonously at his door in the depths of night. To
+an Englishman it suggests calling the police; to Beethoven it suggests a
+symphony."
+
+"Well, David," said Mendelssohn, "it's to be your Concerto, so I want
+you to discuss it with me in all details. I am the most devoted admirer
+of your playing, but I have, as well, the sincerest respect for your
+musicianship."
+
+"Thank you," said David with a smile of deep pleasure; and turning to me
+he added, "I really called to play this over with the master. Shall you
+mind if I scratch it through?"
+
+I tried to assure him of the abiding pleasure that I, a young stranger,
+would receive from being honoured by permission to remain.
+
+"Oh, that's all right," he said unaffectedly; "we are all in the trade,
+you know; you sing, I play."
+
+Mendelssohn sat at the piano and David tuned his instrument. Mendelssohn
+used no copy. His memory was prodigious. The violin gave out a
+beautiful melody that soared passionately, yet gracefully, above an
+accompaniment, simple at first, but growing gradually more intense and
+insistent till a great climax was reached, after which the solo voice
+sank slowly to a low, whispering murmur, while the piano played above it
+a succession of sweetly delicate and graceful phrases. The movement was
+worked out with the utmost complexity and brilliance, but came suddenly
+to an end. The playing of the two masters was beyond description.
+
+"The cadenza is subject to infinite alteration," remarked Mendelssohn;
+and turning to me, he continued, "the movement is unfinished, you see;
+and even what is written may be greatly changed. I fear I am a
+fastidious corrector. I am rarely satisfied with my first thoughts."
+
+"Well, I don't think much change is wanted here," said David. "I'm
+longing to have the rest of it. When will it be ready?"
+
+Mendelssohn shook his head with a smile. "Ask me for it in five years,
+David."
+
+"What do you think of it, Bennett?" asked the violinist.
+
+"I was thinking that we are in the garden of Eden," said Bennett,
+oracularly.
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Mendelssohn.
+
+"This," explained Bennett: "there seems to me something essentially and
+exquisitely feminine about this movement, just as in Beethoven's
+Concerto there is something essentially and heroically masculine. In
+other words, he has made the Adam of Concertos, and you have mated it
+with the Eve. Henceforth," he continued, waving his hands in
+benediction, "the tribe of Violin Concertos shall increase and multiply
+and become as the stars of heaven in multitude."
+
+"The more the merrier," cried David, "at least for fiddlers--I don't
+know what the audiences will think."
+
+"Audiences don't think--at least, not in England," said Bennett.
+
+"Come, come!" interposed Mendelssohn; and turning to me with a smile he
+said, "Will you allow Mr. Bennett to slander your countrymen like this?"
+
+"But Mr. Bennett doesn't mean it," I replied; "he knows that English
+audiences love, and are always faithful to, what stirs them deeply."
+
+"Yes; but what does stir them deeply?" he asked; "look at the enormous
+popularity of senseless sentimental songs."
+
+"On the other hand," I retorted, "look at our old affection for Handel
+and our new affection for Mr. Mendelssohn himself."
+
+"Thank you," said Mendelssohn, with a smile; "Handel is certainly yours
+by adoption. You English love the Bible, and Handel knew well how to wed
+its beautiful words to noble music. He was happy in having at his
+command the magnificent prose of the Bible and the magnificent verses of
+Milton. I, too, am fascinated by the noble language of the Scriptures,
+and I have used it both in the vernacular and in the sounding Latin of
+the Vulgate. And I am haunted even now by the words of one of the Psalms
+which seem to call for an appropriate setting. You recall the verses?
+
+  "Hear my prayer; O God;
+   and hide not thyself from my petition.
+
+   Take heed unto me, and hear me,
+   how I mourn in my prayer and am vexed.
+
+   The enemy crieth so,
+   and the ungodly cometh on so fast;
+   for they are minded to do me some mischief,
+   so maliciously are they set against me.
+
+   My heart is disquieted within me;
+   and the fear of death is fallen upon me.
+
+   Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me;
+   and a horrible dread hath overwhelmed me.
+
+   And I said, O that I had wings like a dove;
+   for then would I flee away, and be at rest.
+
+   Lo, then would I get me away far off;
+   and remain in the wilderness.
+
+   I would make haste to escape;
+   because of the stormy wind and tempest."
+
+"Yes," said David, nodding emphatically; "they are wonderful words; you
+must certainly set them."
+
+"The Bible is an inexhaustible mine of song and story for musical
+setting," continued Mendelssohn; "I have one of its stories in my mind
+now; but only one man, a greater even than Handel, was worthy to touch
+the supreme tragedy of all."
+
+The last words were murmured as if to himself rather than to us, and he
+accompanied them abstractedly with tentative, prelusive chords, which
+gradually grew into the most strangely moving music I have ever heard.
+
+Its complex, swelling phrases presently drew together and rose up in
+one great major chord. No one spoke. I felt as if some mighty spirit
+had been evoked and that its unseen presence overshadowed us.
+
+"What was it?" I presently whispered to Bennett; but he shook his head
+and said, "Wait; he will tell you."
+
+At length I turned to Mendelssohn and said, "Is that part of the new
+work of yours you mentioned just now?"
+
+"Of mine!" he exclaimed; "of mine! I could never write such music. No,
+no! That was Bach, John Sebastian Bach--part of his St. Matthew Passion.
+I was playing not so much the actual notes of any chorus, but rather the
+effect of certain passages as I could feel them in my mind."
+
+"So that was by Bach!" I said in wonder.
+
+"Yes," said Mendelssohn; "and people know so little of him. They either
+think of him as the composer of mathematical exercises in music, or else
+they confuse him with others of his family. He was Cantor of the St.
+Thomas School here in Leipzig, the perfect type of a true servant of
+our glorious art. He wrote incessantly, but the greatest of his works
+lay forgotten after his death; and it was I, I, who disinterred this
+marvellous music-drama of the Passion, and gave it in Berlin ten years
+ago--its first performance since Bach's death almost a century before.
+But there," he added, with an apologetic smile, "I talk too much! Let us
+speak of something else."
+
+"Yes," said David, "you will talk of Bach for ever if no one stops you.
+Not that I mind. I am a disciple, too."
+
+"And I, too," added Bennett. "I mean to emulate Mendelssohn. He was the
+first to give the 'Passion' in Germany, I will be the first to give it
+in England."
+
+"Then I'll be recording angel," said David, "and register your vow.
+You'll show him up, if he breaks his word, won't you?" he added, turning
+to me.
+
+"Now this will really change the subject," said Mendelssohn, producing a
+sheet of manuscript. "Here is a little song I wrote last year to some
+old verses. Perhaps our new friend will let us hear it."
+
+In great trepidation I took the sheet. It was headed simply "Volkslied."
+I saw at once that there would be no difficulty in reading it, for the
+music was both graceful and simple.
+
+"Shall we try?" asked Mendelssohn, with his quiet, reassuring smile.
+
+"If you are willing to let me," I answered.
+
+   _Parting._
+
+  "It is decreed by heaven's behest
+   That man from all he loves the best
+         Must sever.
+   That soon or late with breaking heart
+   With all his dear ones he must part
+         For ever.
+
+   How oft we cull a budding flower,
+   To see it bloom a transient hour;
+         'Tis gathered.
+   The bud becomes a lovely rose,
+   Its morning blush at evening goes;
+         'Tis withered.
+
+   And has it pleased our God to lend
+   His cheering smile in child or friend?
+         To-morrow--
+   To-morrow if reclaimed again
+   The parting hour will prove how vain
+         Is sorrow.
+
+   Oft hope beguiles the friends who part;
+   With happy smiles, and heart to heart,
+   'To meet,' they cry, 'we sever.'
+   It proves good-bye for ever.
+         For ever!"
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._   PARTING.
+  "It is decreed by heaven's behest
+   That man from all he loves the best
+          Must sever."]
+
+"Bravo!" cried Bennett.
+
+"Say rather, 'Bravi,'" said David, "for the song was as sweet as the
+singer."
+
+"Yes," said Bennett; "the simple repetition of the closing words of each
+verse is like a sigh of regret."
+
+"And the whole thing," added David, "has the genuine simplicity of the
+true folk-melody."
+
+Further discussion was prevented by a characteristic knock at the door.
+
+The visitor who entered in response to Mendelssohn's call was a sturdily
+built man of thirty, or thereabouts, with an air of mingled courage,
+resolution, and good humour. His long straight hair was brushed back
+from a broad, intellectual brow, and his thoughtful, far-looking eyes
+intensified the impression he gave of force and original power. He
+smiled humorously. "All the youth, beauty and intellect of Leipzig in
+one room. I leave you to apportion the qualities. Making much noise,
+too! And did I hear the strains of a vocal recital?"
+
+"You did," replied Bennett; "that was my young countryman here, who has
+just been singing a new song of Mendelssohn's."
+
+"Pardon me," said the new-comer to me; "you see Mendelssohn so fills the
+stage everywhere, that even David gets overlooked sometimes, don't
+you, my inspired fiddler?" he added, slapping the violinist on the back.
+
+"Yes I do," said David, "and so do the manners of all of you, for no one
+introduces our singer;" and turning to me he added, "this is Mr. Robert
+Schumann who divides the musical firmament of Leipzig with Mendelssohn."
+
+"You forget to add," said Mendelssohn, "that Schumann conquers in
+literature as well as in music. No one has written better musical
+critiques."
+
+"Yes, yes," grumbled David; "I wish he wouldn't do so much of it. If he
+scribbled less he'd compose more. The cobbler should stick to his last,
+and the musician shouldn't relinquish the music-pen for the goose
+quill."
+
+"But what of Mendelssohn himself," urged Schumann; "he, in a special
+sense, is a man of letters; for if there's one thing as good as being
+with him, it is being away from him, and receiving his delightful
+epistles."
+
+"Not the same thing," said David, shaking his head.
+
+"And then," said Schumann, waving his hand comprehensively around the
+room, "observe his works of art."
+
+I was about to express my astonishment at finding that Mendelssohn
+himself had produced these admirable pictures; but David suddenly
+addressed me: "By the way, don't let Mendelssohn decoy you into playing
+billiards with him; or if you do weakly yield, insist on fifty in the
+hundred--unless, of course, you have misspent your time, too, in gaining
+disreputable proficiency;" and he shook his head at the thought of many
+defeats.
+
+"Certainly," exclaimed Schumann, "Mendelssohn does all things well."
+
+"That's a handsome admission from a rival," said David.
+
+"A rival!" answered Schumann with spirit. "There can be no talk of
+rivalry between us. I know my place. Mendelssohn and I differ about
+things, sometimes; but who could quarrel with him?"
+
+"I could!" exclaimed David, jumping up, and striking an heroic attitude.
+
+"You!" laughed Schumann; "You quarrel, you dear old scraper of
+unmentionable strings!"
+
+"Ah, ha! my boy," chuckled David, "you can't write for them."
+
+"You mean I don't write for them," said Schumann; "I admit that I don't
+provide much for you to do. I leave that to my betters."
+
+"Never mind," said David, giving his shoulder a friendly pat; "at least
+you can write for the piano. I believe in you, and your queer music."
+
+"That's nice of you, David," replied Schumann, "but as to Mendelssohn
+and me, who shall decide which of us is right? He believes in making
+music as pellucid to the hearers as clear water. Now I like to baffle
+them--to leave them something to struggle with. Music is never the worse
+for being obscure at first."
+
+Mendelssohn shook his head and smiled. "You state your case eloquently,
+Schumann," he said, "but my feelings revolt against darkness and
+indefiniteness."
+
+"Yes, yes," assented Schumann; "you are the Fairies' Laureate."
+
+"Hear, hear!" cried David. "Now could anything be finer in its way than
+the Midsummer Night's Dream music? And the wondrous brat wrote it at
+seventeen!"
+
+Mendelssohn laughingly acknowledged the compliments.
+
+"That is a beautiful fairy song of yours," I said, "the one to Heine's
+verses about the fairies riding their tiny steeds through the wood."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Schumann; "will you sing it to us?"
+
+"I am afraid it requires much lighter singing than I can give it," I
+replied; "but I will try, if you wish."
+
+"We shall all be glad if you will," said Mendelssohn, as he turned once
+more to the key-board. The bright staccato rhythm flashed out from his
+fingers so gaily that I was swept into the song without time for
+hesitation:
+
+   _The Fairy Love._
+
+   "Through the woods the moon was glancing;
+   There I saw the Fays advancing;
+   On they bounded, gaily singing,
+   Horns resounded, bells were ringing.
+   Tiny steeds with antlers growing
+   On their foreheads brightly glowing,
+   Bore them swift as falcons speeding
+   Fly to strike the game receding.
+   Passing, Queen Titania sweetly
+   Deigned with nods and smiles to greet me.
+   Means this, love will be requited?
+   Or, will hope by death be blighted?"
+
+"You have greatly obliged us," said Schumann courteously.
+
+"It reminds me, though I don't know why," said David, "of that
+fairy-like duet about Jack Frost and the dancing flowers."
+
+"Come along and play it with me," said Mendelssohn to Bennett; "you've
+been hiding your talents all day."
+
+Bennett joined him at the piano, and the two began to romp like
+schoolboys.
+
+The simple duet was woven into a brilliant fantasia, but always in the
+gay spring-like spirit of the poem.
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._    THE FAIRY LOVE.
+ "Through the woods the moon was glancing
+       There I saw the fays advancing.
+         *     *     *     *     *
+   Tiny steeds with antlers growing
+       on their foreheads brightly glowing."]
+
+
+   _The Maybells and the Flowers._
+
+  "Young Maybells ring throughout the vale
+     And sound so sweet and clear,
+   The dance begins, ye flowers all,
+     Come with a merry cheer!
+   The flowers red and white and blue,
+     Merrily flock around,
+   Forget-me-nots of heavenly hue,
+     And violets, too, abound.
+
+   Young Maybells play a sprightly tune,
+     And all begin to dance,
+   While o'er them smiles the gentle moon,
+     With her soft silvery glance.
+   This Master Frost offended sore;
+     He in the vale appeared:
+   Young Maybells ring the dance no more--
+     Gone are the flowers seared!
+
+   But Frost has scarcely taken flight,
+     When well-known sounds we hear:
+   The Maybells with renewed delight,
+     Are ringing doubly clear!
+   Now I no more can stay at home,
+     The Maybells call me so:
+   The flowers to the dance all roam,
+     Then why should I not go?"
+
+"Really," said David; "it's quite infectious"; and jumping up he began
+to pirouette, exclaiming, "Then why should I not go!"
+
+"David, this is unseemly," exclaimed Schumann, with mock severity.
+"There's another pretty fairy-like piece of yours, Mendelssohn, the
+Capriccio in E minor."
+
+"Yes," said Bennett, beginning to touch its opening fanfare of tiny
+trumpet-notes; "someone told me a pretty story of this piece, to the
+effect that a young lady gave you some flowers, and you undertook,
+gallantly, to write the music the Fairies played on the little
+trumpet-like blooms."
+
+"Yes," said Mendelssohn, with a smile, "it was in Wales, and I wrote the
+piece for Miss Taylor."
+
+"By-the-by," said Schumann, "David's antics remind me that Mendelssohn
+can make Witches and other queer creatures, dance, as well as Fairies."
+
+"Villain," exclaimed David, and he began to recite dramatically the
+invocation from the "First Walpurgis Night," while Mendelssohn played
+the flashing accompaniment.
+
+  "Come with flappers,
+   Fire and clappers;
+   Hop with hopsticks,
+   Brooms and mopsticks;
+   Through the night-gloom lead and follow
+   In and out each rocky hollow.
+   Owls and ravens
+   Howl with us and scare the cravens."
+
+"Ah," said Mendelssohn, "I don't think the old poet would really have
+cared for my setting, though he admired my playing, and was always most
+friendly to me."
+
+"Yes," said Schumann, warmly; "Goethe liked you because you were
+successful, and prosperous. Now Beethoven was poor: therefore Beethoven
+must first be loftily patronised and then contemptuously snubbed. I can
+never forgive Goethe for that. And as for poor Schubert, well, Goethe
+ignored him, and actually thought he had misinterpreted the Erl-king! It
+would be comic if it were not painful."
+
+"Poor Schubert!" said Mendelssohn with a sigh; "he met always Fortune's
+frown, never her smile."
+
+"Don't you think," said Bennett, "that his genius was the better for his
+poverty--that he learned in suffering what he taught in song?"
+
+"No, I do not!" replied Mendelssohn warmly. "That is a vile doctrine
+invented by a callous world to excuse its cruelty."
+
+"I believe there's something in it, though," said Bennett.
+
+"There is some truth in it, but not much," answered Mendelssohn, his
+eyes flashing as he spoke. "It is true that the artist learns by
+suffering, because the artist is more sensitive and feels more deeply
+than others. But enough of suffering comes to all of us, even the most
+fortunate, without the sordid, gratuitous misery engendered by poverty."
+
+"I agree with Mendelssohn," said Schumann. "To say that poverty is the
+proper stimulus of genius is to talk pernicious nonsense. Poverty slays,
+it does not nourish; poverty narrows the vision, it does not ennoble;
+poverty lowers the moral standard and makes a man sordid. You can't get
+good art out of that."
+
+ [Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._  THE MAYBELLS AND THE FLOWERS.
+   "Now I no more can stay at home.
+     The Maybells call me so.
+   The flowers to the dance all roam,
+     Then, why should I not go?"]
+
+"Perhaps I have been more fortunate than most artists," said
+Mendelssohn softly. "When I think of all that my dear father and mother
+did for us, I can scarcely restrain tears of gratitude. Almost more
+valuable than their careful encouragement was their noble, serious
+common-sense. My mother, whom Heaven long preserve to me, was not the
+woman to let me, or any of us, live in a fool's paradise, and my dear
+dead father was too good a man of business to set me walking in a blind
+alley. Ah!" he continued, with glistening eyes, "the great musical times
+we had in the dear old Berlin house!"
+
+"Yes," said David; "Your house was on the Leipzig Road. You see, even
+then, the finger of fate pointed the way to this place."
+
+"Indeed," said Schumann, with a sigh, "You certainly had extraordinary
+opportunities. Not that I've been badly used, though."
+
+"Your father was genuinely proud of you," said David. "I remember his
+epigram: 'Once I was the son of my father; now I am the father of my
+son.'"
+
+Mendelssohn nodded with a smile, and, turning to me, said in
+explanation, "You must know that my father's father was a famous
+philosopher."
+
+"Well!" said Schumann, rising, "I must be going."
+
+Bennett and David also prepared to leave, and I rose with them.
+
+"Wait a moment," said Mendelssohn; and going to the door he called
+softly, "Cecile, are you there?"
+
+He went out for a moment, and returned with a beautiful and charming
+girl, who greeted the three visitors warmly.
+
+Mendelssohn then presented me, saying, gently and almost proudly, "This
+is my wife."
+
+I bowed deeply.
+
+"You are from England?" said the lady, with the sweetest of smiles; "I
+declare I am quite jealous of your country, my husband loves it so
+much."
+
+"We are very proud of his affection," I replied.
+
+She turned to Schumann and said softly, "And how is Clara?"
+
+"Oh, she is well;" he replied with a glad smile.
+
+"And the father?" she added.
+
+"We have been much worried," he said gravely; "but we shall marry this
+year in spite of all he may do."
+
+"She is worth all your struggles," said Mendelssohn warmly; "she is a
+charming lady, and an excellent musician. You will be very happy."
+
+"Thanks, thanks," replied Schumann, with evident pleasure.
+
+Mendelssohn turned to me and shook my hand warmly. "I have been glad to
+meet you, and to hear you; for you sing like a musician. I shall not say
+good-bye. You will call again, I hope, before you leave Leipzig. Perhaps
+we may meet, too, in England. I am now writing something that I hope my
+English friends will like."
+
+"What is it, sir?" I asked.
+
+"It is an oratorio on the subject of Elijah," he replied.
+
+"It is bound to be good," said Schumann enthusiastically. "Posterity
+will call you the man who never failed."
+
+"Ah!" said Mendelssohn almost sadly, "you are all good and kind, but you
+praise me too much. Perhaps posterity will remember me for my little
+pieces rather than for my greater efforts. Perhaps it will remember me
+best, not as the master, but as the servant; for in my way I have tried
+very hard to glorify the great men who went before me--Bach, Mozart,
+Beethoven, Schubert--Bach most of all. Even if every note of my writing
+should perish, perhaps future generations will think kindly of me,
+remembering that it was I, the Jew by birth, who gave back to
+Christianity that imperishable setting of its tragedy and glory."
+
+With these words in my ears I passed out into the pleasant streets of
+Mendelssohn's chosen city.
+
+
+ _Printed by The Bushey Colour Press (Andre & Sleigh, Ltd.)._
+ _Bushey, Herts._
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
+
+Contemporary spellings have been retained even when inconsistent. In a
+small number of cases, missing punctuation has been silently added.
+
+The following additional changes have been made:
+
+ Lied ohne Woerte              Lied ohne _Worte_
+
+ grateful and simple  	    _graceful_ and simple
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Day with Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, by
+George Sampson
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