After a late night serenade by his many admirers, 110 Felix and his family departed Frankfurt and arrived in Leipzig on September 26. They stayed for only about a week, time enough for Felix to become acquainted with Robert Schumann’s three new String Quartets, Op. 41. Here Felix would have discovered several deft allusions to his own music—e.g., the mischievous scherzo style (Nos. 1–3), lyrical Lied ohne Worte (No. 1), and perpetuum-mobile finale (No. 2). A grateful Schumann dedicated the opus to his friend and recorded in his diary that of all living musicians, Felix had the most astute critical eye. 111 To the delight of his audience, Felix lingered in Leipzig to direct the first concert of the new season on October 2, in a Gewandhaus now festively illuminated by gas; the featured works were Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony and Weber’s Konzertstück , performed by Clara Schumann. Three days later, Felix was once again in Berlin, determined to resign his untenable position in the service of the Prussian king.
V
Writing to Hiller, Felix quickly fell into his “old Berlin strain”: there was nothing worse, he groused, than “traveling north in the autumn,” where one ate “sour grapes and bad nuts.” 112 While waiting for an audience with the king, Felix considered a proposal from the royal Intendant, von Küstner, to compose music for the choruses of Euripides’s Medea , but declined 113 (instead, Felix’s colleague Wilhelm Taubert undertook the commission in 1843). At this time Felix also received an inquiry from Cécile’s cousin Marc André Souchay, Jr., about the meaning of the Lieder ohne Worte . As a child, this musical dilettante had pondered these “masterful paintings,” and now was emboldened to imagine their extramusical contents. Thus, Souchay determined that Op. 19b No. 1 concerned resignation, and No. 2, melancholy. In Op. 30 No. 1 he uncovered a “depiction of a devout and thankful person,” while in Op. 38 No. 1, his unleashed imagination beheld nothing less than “boundless but unrequited love, which therefore often turns into longing, pain, sadness, and despair, but always becomes peaceful again.” 114 Replying to these musings, Felix crafted what is sometimes taken as a defense of the absolutist position in musical aesthetics—the notion that music can stand by itself, unsupported by extraneous ideas. In composing a Lied ohne Worte , Felix only intended the song as it stood. If he had thought of specific words or texts for any of the songs, there was no point in revealing them, because the verbal ambiguities would engender confusion for listeners. Music, on the contrary, was far more precise, and filled the soul with a thousand things better than mere words. 115
Curiously enough, two days after answering Souchay, Felix finished two new Lieder—mit Worten . 116 What is more, these texted songs represented genres already familiar to Souchay in the Lieder ohne Worte . Thus, Felix’s fourth Venetianisches Gondellied , Op. 57 No. 5 employed the lapping water imagery, softly dappled minor-keyed sonorities, and barcarolle rhythms familiar in its three predecessors for piano solo, but now Felix did “disclose” the text, Thomas Moore’s poem about an amorous assignation on the Venetian lagoons ( ex. 13.11 ). Similarly, the Volkslied , a duet for two sopranos, Op. 63 No. 5, characterized by rustic drones, adopted elements of Felix’s Scottish manner already explored in a variety of instrumental works. The text was drawn from Robert Burns’s sentimental poem, “O wert thou in the cauld blast.” Felix’s remonstrations to Souchay notwithstanding, a wealth of subtly reflecting musical and literary ideas bridged the gap between the texted and wordless Lieder, a fertile testing ground for the definitude of musical expression.
Ex. 13.11 : Mendelssohn, Venetianisches Gondellied , Op. 57 No. 5 (1842)
On Sunday, October 16, 1842, Felix emerged from an intense, two-hour meeting with a perturbed Prussian monarch, who declined to release his subject from royal service. Frederick William began to lay out plans for reorganizing music in the capital, a task he could not imagine finishing without Felix. But, the king conceded, until its implementation, Felix was free to travel. Writing immediately to Schleinitz, Felix announced his impending return to Leipzig to resume the Gewandhaus concerts, but also that he was duty bound not to accept a position from the Saxon king. 117 There ensued more discussions with von Massow and Eichhorn, who proposed that Felix take charge of sacred music in Berlin. Felix replied that “such a situation, if considered practically , must either consist of a general superintendence of all the present organists, choristers, schoolmasters, etc., or of the improvement and practice of the singing choirs in one or more cathedrals” 118 —exactly the kind of bureaucratic post that gave him no joy. Now deciding to force the issue, Felix determined to tender his resignation and requested a second royal audience, which occurred on October 26. The evening before, he tried to break the news gently to his mother but succeeded only in upsetting her at the prospect of losing her son a second time.
The second audience lasted only about an hour but produced results Felix could not have envisioned. Searching for a solution, the king offered to found a new court chapel, consisting of thirty singers and a small orchestra, all drawn from the best musicians of the city. Felix would conduct the ensembles in church music on Sundays, and oratorios and other works on other occasions, and compose music for them. Until the new ensembles were in place, he was free to return to Leipzig (“It appears you are fond of traveling,” the monarch observed repeatedly). Here, finally, was an idea that could take root; charmed by the king’s efforts, Felix acquiesced, prompting a relieved von Massow to react, “You will never dream of leaving us now!” After informing his overjoyed family, Felix summarized the main points of the conversation in a letter to the king 119 and announced his wish, during the organization of the new ensembles, to waive half his salary and return to Leipzig. A few days before leaving Berlin, he conferred with Tieck and agreed to compose incidental music to Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Sophocles’s Oedipus at Colonos , and thus recommitted himself to the king’s service. 120
In Leipzig, where Felix arrived the evening of November 8, he plunged into the hectic municipal concert life and, between November 12 and December 21, directed or participated in eight concerts, including six subscription concerts and two added events for the orchestral pension fund and the aging actress Sophie Schröder. Among the highlights were Spohr’s Fourth Symphony (Die Weihe der Töne ), a Moscheles piano duet performed with Clara Schumann, and Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto (described by Felix as his cheval de bataille 121 ) and Seventh Symphony. The benefit concert for Sophie Schröder (November 26) renewed Felix’s fledgling relationship with Wagner, who directed excerpts from Rienzi , performed by the actress’s daughter, Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient and the Heldentenor Joseph Tichatschek, creators of the roles of Adriano and Rienzi at the Dresden premiere of Rienzi in October. Felix himself performed his Ruy Blas Overture and Piano Concerto in D minor. At the residence of the publisher Friedrich Brockhaus, Felix accompanied Schröder-Devrient in some Schubert songs 122 and had an unusual encounter with Wagner, who happened to play the seductive Venusberg theme from Tannhäuser , on which he was then at work. When Felix asked, “What is that?” Wagner replied, “Do you think I am going to reveal it to you?” whereupon Felix at once reproduced it himself at the piano. 123
Among Felix’s first concerns in Leipzig was to arrange an audience with the Saxon king, Frederick Augustus II. This occurred in Dresden on November 13, when Felix respectfully declined his appointment as Kapellmeister but successfully urged the establishment of the new conservatory in Leipzig. 124 When the king granted final approval a week later, Felix scrambled to prepare a prospectus for opening the institution in the spring of 1843. Writing to Moscheles, he pondered the idea of his friend moving to Leipzig to direct the new school and held talks with the Schumanns to solicit their support. By December he had formed a nucleus of instructors to include himself, the Schumanns, the organist C. F. Becker, C. A. Pohlenz (Felix’s predecessor at the Gewandhaus), and Moritz Hauptmann (the new Kantor of the Thomasschule). But while these plans were underway, Frederick William made fresh demands on Felix’s energies. There was now
talk of music for Shakespeare’s Tempest and Racine’s Athalie , in addition to the other commitments for incidental music. And on November 22, the king signed a Supreme Cabinet Order appointing Felix Generalmusikdirektor für kirchliche und geistliche Musik , and stipulating the establishment of a new institute for “the improvement of sacred singing and sacred music in general.” 125 Centered on the Berlin court and cathedral, the institute was to provide a model for the reform of sacred music throughout Prussia—and a specific sphere of influence for Felix. Embarrassed by this new distinction and reluctant to count among musicians who possessed “a greater number of decorations than they have written good compositions,” Felix obediently acknowledged the new title. 126
As 1842 came to a close, Felix took up composition with rededicated efforts. He made significant progress on the ebullient Cello Sonata in D major, Op. 58, and overhauled his old cantata Die erste Walpurgisnacht , which he wished to program early in the New Year. By December 11, his father’s birthday, Felix was conceptualizing music for A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Oedipus at Colonos . On that “hallowed” day, he wrote Lea of his intention to bring the new pieces to Berlin to share with his family over the Christmas holidays, 127 but she never received the letter. In the middle of a festive dinner party on December 11 she fell ill, after merrily urging her guests to dance, and suffered a stroke. She died the next morning. 128 The same day an obituary, probably written by Varnhagen, appeared in the Vossische Zeitung : “Her death will be deplored not only by her gifted children and near relations, but by a large circle of friends and acquaintances, for she had gathered round her a society as select as it was brilliant, and as sociable as it was animated.” 129
Overcome again by grief, Felix appears to have commuted to Berlin between the closing concerts of the year. On the morning of the 13th, after receiving a letter from Paul written before Lea’s death, he hurriedly took a train to Berlin, only to arrive too late. 130 The last subscription concert (December 21) required his presence in Leipzig, because the Saxon king was in attendance. The concert began by commemorating Friedrich Rochlitz, founder of the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung and a stalwart member of the Gewandhaus directors, who had died just days before. It continued with the Eroica , a solo by David, and Felix’s Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture. But the most difficult work for him was his setting of Psalm 42; during rehearsal, its imagery of the soul thirsting after God caused the composer to flee the hall in tears. 131 “We are children no longer,” Felix wrote ruefully to Paul. Lea’s unexpected death had severed one of the last ties to Berlin and left the children parentless. To be sure, at the height of his fame, Felix enjoyed the company of monarchs and now served as Prussian Generalmusikdirektor, but of what still remained unclear.
Chapter 14
1843–1844
Portrait of a Prussian Musician
What made me specially cling to Berlin … no longer exists now.
—Felix to Hiller, January 19, 1843 1
Felix had grieved before. Upon the death seven years earlier of his “instructor in art and life,” the bachelor composer had fulfilled Abraham’s ardent wish by completing St. Paul . Now, in 1843, Felix mourned with his family, drew windmills for his children, and alleviated headaches by reading Dickens’s Pickwick Papers . 2 New creative work was difficult; instead, he reorchestrated Die erste Walpurgisnacht and rewrote the concert aria Infelice . But on January 19, he drafted a new Lied ohne Worte in E minor, assimilated the next year into the fifth volume as Op. 62 No. 3. 3 Though untitled, the Lied eventually became known as the Trauermarsch (Funeral March ); 4 its dirgelike fanfares and somber processional effects made musically palpable his grief ( ex. 14.1 ).
Felix was now content to stay in Leipzig. Paul handled the affairs of Lea’s estate, estimated as a fortune of 160,000 thalers. 5 Meanwhile, his brother went through the motions of conducting the Gewandhaus concerts, four of which fell in January alone, and promoted the new conservatory. Instruction would be offered to Saxons and foreign students in composition, violin, piano, organ, and singing, supplemented by lectures in music history and training in chamber music and choral singing. Tuition was eighty thalers a year; each student would enjoy free admission to concerts at the Gewandhaus, where classes would be held; to Hiller Felix confided he would have to lecture about chords three or four times a week in a small room adjacent to the hall, but he was willing for “love of the cause.” By early March thirty-four students had applied; among the inquiries was a letter from a young American, E. B. Oliver, whom the composer pledged to help, noting that he was far from his home—Boston. 6
Ex. 14.1 : Mendelssohn, Lied ohne Worte in E minor, Op. 62 No. 3 (1843)
By late January Felix’s mood had improved. His uncle Joseph sent him a lithograph of Moses Mendelssohn and a biographical essay for inclusion in the new edition of the philosopher’s writings that the publisher Brockhaus began to bring out that year. Felix, Joseph wrote, was “the first to give new life to the brilliance of your grandfather’s name…. About the biography I can only say to you, it is true, the gulf between the conditions of the grandfather’s life and that of the grandson will astonish you. If the moral world were always to make such giant steps, it would be inconceivable that it has not progressed further in 5000 years.” 7
Felix was touched by the dedications of Ludwig Spohr’s Piano Sonata in A ♭ , Op. 125, and Niels Gade’s First Symphony in C minor, Op. 5, then in rehearsal at the Gewandhaus. 8 When Hector Berlioz, embarking on his first German tour, inquired about a Leipzig concert, Felix affably offered to assist. 9 Berlioz arrived on January 28 with his mistress, the mezzo-soprano Marie Recio, and proceeded to the Gewandhaus, where he found Felix, who “behaved like a brother” toward him, 10 rehearsing Die erste Walpurgisnacht . Impressed by the score’s fire and passion, Berlioz prevailed upon Felix to exchange batons, the Frenchman’s “heavy oak cudgel” for an elegant marshal’s baton. 11 Accompanying Berlioz’s offering was a mock note, in the style of James Fenimore Cooper’s Last of the Mohicans , that concluded, “when the Great Spirit sends us to hunt in the land of souls, may our warriors hang our tomahawks side by side at the door of the council chamber.” 12 According to Fanny, Berlioz’s “odd manners gave so much offense” that Felix continually had to smooth ruffled feathers. Indeed, the baton exchange itself caused a misunderstanding. Fanny described Felix’s as a “pretty light stick of whalebone covered with white leather,” while Berlioz’s rated only “an enormous cudgel of lime-tree with the bark on.” 13 Berlioz’s note compared the two in an indelicate double entendre—Le mien est grossier, le tien est simple (“Mine is coarser, yours is simple”).
On February 2, 1843, Berlioz attended the sixteenth Gewandhaus concert, an all-German program, with works by Haydn, Beethoven, Mozart, Weber, and Henselt, culminating in the premiere of the revised Erste Walpurgisnacht . Berlioz wrote rhapsodically about Felix’s cantata, praising its “impeccable clarity, notwithstanding the complexity of the writing,” the “whirling momentum and sweep” of the finale, and interweaving of voices and instruments “with an apparent confusion” that was “the perfection of art.” 14 The next day Felix devoted part of his thirty-fourth birthday to rehearsing Berlioz’s concert and resolving last-minute glitches. In particular, the unusual scoring of the Symphonie fantastique strained the resources of the Gewandhaus. First, Berlioz requested twenty-four instead of the usual sixteen violins. The cor anglais, needed for the shepherd’s song in the slow movement, was in such disrepair that a clarinet had to replace it. The ophicleide was declared “null and void” and supplanted by a fourth trombone. And when an amateur harpist bungled the decorative arpeggiations of the waltz in the second movement, Felix sight-read the part on the piano. Despite these obstacles and only two rehearsals, on February 4 the orchestra performed Berlioz’s symphony and other works to his satisfaction.
Critical reaction was far from positive; indeed, the concert “threw musical Leipzig into a state of agitation.” 15 In the Allgemeine musikalische Z
eitung an anonymous reviewer, probably the new editor, Moritz Hauptmann, inveighed against the “unpleasant” harmonies and dissonances of Berlioz’s music, many of a previously unheard intensity. Compared to the symphony, the “Wolf’s Glen” scene of Weber’s Der Freischütz was a barcarolle; instead of pleasing the audience, Berlioz pursued a willful musical iconoclasm, and so forth. 16 Felix remained above the fray, though his private opinion of Berlioz had not changed since their meeting in Rome. When the flamboyant Frenchman departed for a Dresden engagement, Felix returned to less controversial fare—a benefit concert for Sophie Schloss (February 9) that featured his Infelice and Robert Schumann’s new Piano Quintet, and the seventeenth subscription concert (February 16), on which his old friend Carl Baermann performed some virtuoso clarinet variations. Around this time Felix made a short trip to Berlin (February 5–6) 17 and then entertained relatives in Leipzig, first Paul and Albertine, followed by Wilhelm and Fanny, who arrived just in time to meet Berlioz returning for his second appearance, a charity concert of February 23.
Mendelssohn: A Life in Music Page 61
