TO HIS MOTHER.
Dear Mother,—A thousand thanks for the dear letter I received yesterday, which delighted me, except for that little—well-deserved—thrust at the beginning of it. Indeed, I ought to have written long ago, but you cannot conceive how much I have to be Jack-of-all-work in every corner these winter months. The trifling imperceptible fragments of business, notes, and so forth, that arise every day, and seem to me so burthensome, and such useless lumber in one’s existence, like the dust upon one’s books persist in accumulating and become unmanageable if one does not make a clear sweep of them daily. And then there is the strong pressure I feel on me, whenever my spirits are right, to make my regular work result in something, so altogether my weeks and months fleet by like the wind.
You will have seen in the newspapers that we arranged a special concert for the visit of the King of Saxony, and gave a second performance of the hymn in his honour, which went off admirably. All the music went so well that it was a delight to listen. During the interval the king sent to fetch me, and I was obliged to make my way somehow through a double row of ladies—you know the arrangement of our hall—to arrive at the spot where his majesty and suite were seated. He conversed with me a long time very kindly and pleasantly, and spoke with discrimination about musical topics. In the second part came the “hymn,” and at its conclusion, just as I had moved from my desk, I suddenly heard the people about me exclaiming, “Now the King is coming to him,” and true enough, he passed through the rows of ladies, came to my desk—you may fancy what a general jubilation there was—and spoke to me with so much feeling and cordiality that I felt in the highest degree delighted and honoured. He mentioned the particular passages which had pleased him best, thanked the singers, and so went away, both orchestra and audience making him the finest bows and courtesies they could contrive. There was altogether an uproar and confusion like Noah’s Ark. Now, perhaps, he will give us the 20,000 thalers I have long been endeavouring to get for our musical institutions here, and then I could truly say I had done some service to Leipsic music….
I say nothing of the “silver wedding” of the Leipsic Liedertafel; indeed, I have not quite recovered from it as yet. Heaven help us, what a bore our German fatherland is, when one looks at it from that side! I have a vivid recollection of father’s extreme repugnance to these institutions, and everything that has any sort of connection with “Cousin Michael.” I feel something similar in myself. Farewell, dearest mother.