Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1860-11-12
GQortester Daily Spp,
of HIendeIssohn,
BY BAYARD TAYLOR.


ReeOnections of SIendeIssohn
BY BAYARD TAYLOR
My fist winter in Europe THAT of 1844-5l
was passed in Frankfort-on-the-M Main Among
the advantages which | there enjoyed, not the
least was that of educating, to some extent
totally uncultivated taste for music-taste
only, not talent-by hearing, ha itually, the
best productions Of the best composers The
City Theater at that time was noted through
out Germany for the classic character of the
operas which were produced on its boards. 1t
possessed an admirable orchestra a company
otssingers, of whom, if none were great, none
at least were indifferent, and director who
Consulted the interests of art as the true means
to advance his own Not only Beethoven's
Fidetlo, all the operas of Mozart including
Titus and the Abduction from the lSeraqlio and
the masterpieces of Gluck and Cherubiui,
were many forgotten operas of the past centu-
ny were revived. My enjoyment of these
works was OF course more enthusiastic than
intelligent, but, under the guidance of my
friend and housemate, Richard Storrs Willis,
attained, at last, some appreciation of the
characters of the various masters.
Ny highest measure Of veneratiOn was given
10 Beethoven, but, of living composers none
impressed me more profoundly than Men
delssohn. In him l found that rare union of
imagination with the artistic sense 1.-THE classic
instinct OF proportion) which is the loftest
characteristic OF genius During the winter
the society of St Cecilia produced his oval.
purgisnacht," the music to Goethe's words.
remember repeating to myself the opening
mes on the way to the concert hall, and inn
aglhlng light, joyous air -
''Now laughs the MAY:
10 forests gray
1he ice no more is elinging:
The snow has fed,
And every glade
hesOunds with merry singing"
and l remember, too, the surprised delight
with which heard, instead the long, ringing
cutlery of gadness, monotonous as sunshine,
and dazzling. Mendolssohn was then
temporarily residing in Frankfort, and was
himself present at the performance of this
work. was not, however, aware of this at
the time.
Shortly afterwards, during the great Annual
Fair, was walking one afternoon with my
friend Willis along the northern back of the
Main. 1t was deiciOusly warm sunny day,
at the close of March, and the long stone
quay was thrOnged with thousand OF stran-
gers from all parts of Europe. Poles, Bohe-
miens, Tyrolese, Italians, aud Greeks were
scattered through the crowd, and their var
ious tongues and dialects continually met
the ear. Against the ancient houses, be-
with gaudy wares, and surrounded with
groups Of peasants in holiday costume, and
up the river, over the old sandstone bridge
over the green meadows of Oflenbach, rose
the mountains Of Spessart, dim, purple back
ground to that broad picture of human life.
AS we pushed through the crowd, my eyes,
which had wandered idly over the picturesque
faces and costumes around us, were suddenly
arrested, by the face of man a little distance
in 'front.' approaching us. His head was thrown
back, and his eyes, large, dark, and of won
dertul brilliancy, were fixed upon the western
sky. Long, thin locks of black hair, with
here and there silver streak, fell around his
ears. His beard, Of several days growth, and
his cravat, loosely and awkwardy tied, added
to the air OF ABSORPTION, IF self torgettulness,
which marked his whole appearance. He
made his way through the crowd mechanical.
ly, evidently but half conscious of its pres
ence.
AS he drew nearer, l saw that his lips were
moving, and presently heard the undertone of
deep, rich voice, chanting what appeared to
be choral, judging from the few bars which
reached me in passing. 1t was evidently
/ felt Immediately soliloquy l.. music. L
have no. yet lost, and never shall lose, the
impression it produced upon me. though | can
no longer recall tie notes. My companion
grasped my arm and whispered, "Mendels-
sohn!" as he slowly brushed past me, and, Tor
IL single moment, the voice Of his inspiration
sang atmy very ear. l stopped instantly, and
turned; yet, so long as | could follow him with
my eye, he was still pressing slowly onward,
with the same fixed, uplilted gaze, lost to eve
rything hut his art
| was twenty years old, and as enthusiastic
and sentimental as youth Of that age are prone
to be. So | wrote tile next day an eloquent
letter to the composer, concluding with tile re-
quest that he would write me a line, as a souve-
mir of the place and the season. in which first
became acquainted with his works. Of there
was any indiscretion in this, have since re.
ceived ample punishment Tor it, de replied
Immediately, in a very kind note, inclosing
the score OF a chorus in the Walpurgsnacht,
in his own manuscript
'Still shines the day,
Whenever may
pure heart bring to thee"