Bonn, December 28th, 1833.

Dear Father,

First of all, I must thank you for your kind, loving letter, and I rejoice that even before receiving it, I had done what you desired.[5] Strange to say, my official acceptance, I must tell you, was sent last week to Schadow; the biography was enclosed, so I expect the patent next week; but I must thank you once more for the very kind manner in which you write to me on the subject, and I feel proud that you consider me worthy of such a confidential tone.

The people in DÜsseldorf are an excitable race! The “Don Juan” affair amused me, although riotous enough, and Immermann had a sharp attack of fever from sheer vexation.[6] As you, dear Mother, like to read newspapers, you shall receive in my next letter all the printed articles on the subject, which engrossed the attention of the whole town for three long days. After the grand scandale had fairly begun, and the curtain three times dropped and drawn up again,—after the first duett of the second act had been sung, entirely drowned by whistling, shouting, and howling,—after a newspaper had been flung to the manager on the stage, that he might read it aloud, who on this went off in a violent huff, the curtain being dropped for the fourth time,—I was about to lay down my bÂton, though I would far rather have thrown it at the heads of some of these fellows, when the uproar suddenly subsided. The shouting voices were hoarse, and the well-conducted people brightened up; in short, the second act was played in the midst of the most profound silence, and much applause at the close. After it was over, all the actors were called for, but not one came, and Immermann and I consulted together in a shower of fiery rain and gunpowder smoke—among the black demons—as to what was to be done. I declared that until the company and I had received some apology, I would not again conduct the opera; then came a deputation of several members of the orchestra, who in turn said that if I did not conduct the opera, they would not play; then the manager of the theatre began to lament, as he had already disposed of all the tickets for the next performance. Immermann snubbed everybody all round, and in this graceful manner we retreated from the field.

Next day in every corner appeared, “Owing to obstacles that had arisen,” etc. etc.; and all the people whom we met in the streets could talk of nothing but this disturbance. The newspapers were filled with articles on the subject; the instigator of the riot justified himself, and declared that in spite of it all he had had great enjoyment, for which he felt grateful to me and to the company, and gave his name; as he is a Government secretary, the president summoned him, blew him up tremendously, and sent him to the director, who also blew him up tremendously. The soldiers who had taken part in the tumult were treated in the same manner by their officers. The Association for the Promotion of Music issued a manifesto, begging for a repetition of the opera, and denouncing the disturbance. The Theatrical Committee intimated that if the slightest interruption of the performance ever again occurred, they would instantly dissolve. I procured also from the committee full powers to put a stop to the opera in case of any unseemly noise. Last Monday it was to be given again; in the morning it was universally reported that the manager was to be hissed, on account of his recent testiness; Immermann was seized with fever, and I do assure you that it was with feelings the reverse of pleasant that I took my place in the orchestra at the beginning, being resolved to stop the performance if there was the slightest disorder. But the moment I advanced to my desk the audience received me with loud applause, and called for a flourish of trumpets in my honour, insisting on this being three times repeated, amid a precious row; then all were as still as mice, while each actor received his share of applause; in short, the public were now as polite as they formerly were unruly. I wish you had seen the performance: individual parts could not, I feel sure, have been better given,—the quartett for instance, and the ghost in the finale at the end of the opera, and almost the whole of “Leporello,” went splendidly, and caused me the greatest pleasure. I am so glad to hear that the singers, who at first, I am told, were prejudiced against me personally, as well as against these classical performances, now say they would go to the death for me, and are all impatience for the time when I am to give another opera. I came over here for Christmas, by Cologne and the Rhine, where ice is drifting along, and have passed a couple of quiet pleasant days here.

And now to return to the much talked of correspondence between Goethe and Zelter. One thing struck me on this subject: when in this work Beethoven or any one else is abused, or my family unhandsomely treated, and many subjects most tediously discussed, I remain quite cool and calm; but when Reichardt is in question, and they both presume to criticize him with great arrogance, I feel in such a rage that I don’t know what to do, though I cannot myself explain why this should be so. His “Morgengesang” must unluckily rest for this winter, the Musical Association is not yet sufficiently full fledged for it, but the first musical festival to which I go it shall be there. It is said they will not be able to have it at Aix-la-Chapelle, and that it is to be given at Cologne, and many of my acquaintances urge me strongly to pay my court to one or the other, in which case I should be selected, but this I never will do. If they should choose me without this, I shall be glad; but if not, I shall save a month’s precious time (for it will take that at least), and remain as I am. Having been obliged to give three concerts this winter, besides the “Messiah” and the “Nozze di Figaro,” I think I have had nearly enough of music for the present, and may now enjoy a little breathing time. But how is it, Mother, that you ask whether I must conduct all the operas? Heaven forbid there should be any must in the case, for almost every week two operas are given, and the performers consider themselves absolved by one rehearsal. I am only one of the members of the Theatrical Association, chosen to be on the select committee, who give six or eight classical performances every year, and elect a council for their guidance, this council consisting of Immermann and myself; we are therefore quite independent of the rest, who consequently feel increased respect for us.

When the great Theatrical Association is fairly established, and the theatre becomes a settled and civic institution, Immermann is resolved to give up his situation in the Justiciary Court, and to engage himself for five years as director of the theatre. Indeed, I hear that most of the shareholders have only given their signatures on condition that he should undertake the plays, and I the operas; how this may be, lies close hidden as yet in the womb of time, but in any event I will not entirely withdraw from the affair. I have composed a song for Immermann’s “Hofer,” or rather, I should say, arranged a Tyrolese popular melody for it, and also a French march; but I like the thing, and mean to send it to Fanny. We think of giving “Hofer” this winter, and perhaps also “Das laute Geheimniss” and “Nathan,” or the “Braut von Messina,” or both. You also advise me, Mother, to acquire the habit of dictation; but in the meantime I can get through by the use of my own pen, and intend only to have recourse to such a dignified proceeding in the greatest possible emergency.[7] Thank you very much for the letter you sent me from Lindblad.[8] It gave me great pleasure, and made me like my concerto far better than I did before, for I know few people whose judgment I respect more than his. I can as little explain this, or give any reason for it, as for many another feeling, but it is so; and when I have finished a thing, whether successful or a failure, he is the first person, next to yourself, whose opinion I should be glad to hear. That a piece so rapidly sketched as this pianoforte concerto, should cause pleasure to so genuine a musician, enhances mine, and so I thank you much for the letter. But it is high time to close this letter and this year, to which I am indebted for many blessings and much happiness, and which has been another bright year for me.

I thank you also, dear Father, now as ever, for having gone with me to England for my sake; and though my advice, which you followed for the first time, proved so unfortunate, and caused us all so much anxiety and uneasiness, you never once reproached me. Still I think, since you write that you are now perfectly well and in good spirits, the journey may have contributed to this. May these happy results be still further increased during the approaching year, and may it bring you all every blessing. Farewell.

Felix.