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At the end of this time he went to Leipzig, where he met with Mendelssohn and played in a concert of Madame Viardot's. A few months later he appeared as a finished artist in a Gewandhaus concert, and played Ernst's "Otello Fantasie."
At one theatre, Victor Hugo's "Les Châtiments" was recited, that bitterest arraignment of Napoleon III. and the Second Empire; at another, Beethoven and Mendelssohn were played, with apologies for their being Germans. The hospital parts of the theatres were railed off, and in the corridors ballet-girls, actors, and sisters of charity mingled together.
His intelligence had as much if not more part in his art work than his emotions, and to this we may attribute that fine symmetry and balance in his own compositions, which make them equal in this respect to the productions of Mendelssohn.
Mendelssohn, we are reminded, wrote no such letters; but Mendelssohn, it may be remarked, was always rich, and has no such record of charitable deeds as stands to Wagner's credit. The nearest parallel to the case of Wagner is that of Beethoven in his old age. He, although perfectly well off, scared himself almost to death with his dread of poverty.
It was sent to Mendelssohn; and that industrious gentleman never referred to the subject. Wherefore we are asked two things to contemn the Jew and accept the symphony as a manifestation of tremendous genius. Possibly Mendelssohn never clapped eyes on the symphony.
If, however, he faced Schwarz on this point, there were others on which he might as well get certainty at the same time. The matter of the PRUFUNG, for instance, had still to be decided. So much depended on the choice of piece. His fingers itched towards Chopin or Mendelssohn, for the sole reason that the technique of these composers was in his blood.
When Mendelssohn began to write in the ordinary German, he was thought to be ashamed of his fathers' speech and to have abandoned it for that of their oppressors. Pause before you choose a path which may estrange you from all you love best." "Did these men accomplish no good by their writings?" "Much good, my son; but through much travail."
The Russo-Polish youth, therefore, found himself quite at home in the country of Mendelssohn, and thither, in case of necessity, he would go. In the eleventh century Jews had gone from Germany to Poland. In the eighteenth they retraced their steps from Poland to Germany. Outnumbering by far those who went there from choice or by invitation, were those compelled to go in search of a livelihood.
Excursions into the country were the most delightful pleasures of the summer. The shorter ones took us to the suburbs of the capital, and sometimes to Charlottenburg, where several of our acquaintances lived, and our guardian, Alexander Mendelssohn, had a country house with a beautiful garden, where there was never any lack of the owner's children and grandchildren for playmates.
The foreigner never forgets those piquant, mutines faces of Andalusia and those dreamy eyes of Malaga, the black masses of Moorish hair and the blond glory of those graceful heads that trace their descent from Gothic demigods. They were not very learned nor very witty, but they were knowing enough to trouble the soundest sleep. Their voices could interpret the sublimest ideas of Mendelssohn.
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