Leipzig, October 27th, 1840.

Dear Mother,

A thousand thanks for your kind letter, received yesterday, which was truly charming, in spite of the well-merited little hit at the beginning. I ought indeed to have written to you long since; but during the last three months, you can have no idea how entirely I have been obliged to play the part of “Hans of all work.” There are trifling minute occupations too, such as notes, etc., of daily recurrence, which seem to me as tiresome and useless in our existence as dust on books, and which, like it, at last thickly accumulate, and do much harm, unless fairly cleared away every morning; and then I feel so keenly the impulse to make some progress with my daily labours as soon as I am in a happy vein. All these things cause the weeks and months to fly past like the wind.

You probably already know, through the newspapers, that we had recently a second performance of the “Hymn of Praise” for the King of Saxony, at an extra subscription concert, and it went off famously. All the music was given with such precision that it was a real pleasure to listen to it. The King sent for me between the parts, which obliged me to pass through a double row of ladies (you know the arrangement of our concert-room), in order to reach the place where the King and his Court were seated. He conversed with me for some time, in the most good-natured and friendly manner, and spoke very judiciously about music. The “Hymn of Praise” was given in the second part, and at the conclusion, just as I had quitted my music-desk, I suddenly heard people round me saying, “The King is coming to him this time;” and he was in fact passing through the rows of ladies, and came up to my desk: (you may imagine what universal satisfaction this caused.) He spoke to me in so animated a manner, and with such cordiality and warmth, that I did indeed feel it to be a great pleasure and honour. He mentioned the particular passages that had pleased him most, and, after thanking all the singers, he took his departure, while the whole orchestra, and the whole audience, made the very best bows and curtsies they could accomplish. Then came a hubbub and confusion like Noah’s ark. Perhaps the King will now bestow the 20,000 thalers which I long ago petitioned might be given towards the music here. In that case, I could with truth say that I had done good service to the music of Leipzig.[42]

Eckert has returned here in the character of a zealous Prussian patriot, and goes nearly as far as the Prussian Government paper, which declares that the rain which beat in the King’s face only fanned his fire still more. But to my incredulous grimaces, Eckert replied that you were quite of his way of thinking, and had charged him to let me know this. It is so provoking that a distance even of twenty miles should exercise so irresistible an influence, and that, notwithstanding all the minute descriptions and details in the newspapers, we cannot rightly understand the proceedings which take place in your presence, and vice versÂ. A thousand minutiÆ are involved in the affair, which appear insignificant, and are consequently omitted by the narrator; and yet they are the links that connect the whole, and the chief cause of many of these events.

So far as I can gather the real meaning of it all, just so far does it displease me, and that is perhaps the reason why I cannot approve of all the other fine adjuncts, down to the “fiery rain” of the Government paper. In the meanwhile, time pursues its steady jog-trot pace. Thiers is no longer minister. A number of arrests have been made in Frankfort, and Queen Christina is welcome to my little room. By Heavens! I would at this moment far rather be a musician than a sovereign!

I say nothing about the silver wedding-day of the Leipzig Liedertafel, for I have not yet recovered from it. God help us! what a tiresome thing our German Fatherland is, when viewed in this light! I can well remember my Father’s violent wrath against Liedertafels, and indeed against everything at all connected with Cousin Michael, and I feel something similar stirring within me.

Farewell, dearest Mother.—Ever your

Felix.