Mendelssohn on his Creative Process
It is a glorious feeling to waken in the morning
and to know that you are going to write the score of a grand allegro
with all sorts of instruments...and take a long walk in the afternoon.1
We suspect that most composers are like Beethoven, for whom a fragment of
perhaps a melody would occur to him and which would then require a lengthy
process of manipulation before finding its final form. Mendelssohn, on the other
hand, was one of those very rare persons like Mozart who seemed to walk around
with large portions of music in his head. In 1830 he mentions to his sister that a
piano concerto “begins to float in my head”2 and the following year he makes a very
curious comment to his family.
Since I left Vienna I have half composed Goethe’s “First Walpurgis
Night,” and have not courage to write it down.3
The music he carried around in his head included large forms. He
mentioned once that “I have a symphony in my head which will soon be launched”4
and on another occasion large portions of an opera.
I confess to you that for the last six months I have had a incredible
longing to write an opera. I cannot think of instrumental music now, because
I have nothing but voices and choruses buzzing around me, and I shall have
no peace till I have worked it out.5
While this music would never be put on paper, on another occasion he apparently
heard in his head an entire chorus for St. Paul “which I shall very soon write down”
and did.6
1
Letter to his family, Munich, Oct. 6, 1831.
2
Letter to his sister, Fanny, Rome, Nov. 16, 1830.
3
Letter to his family, Rome, Feb. 22, 1831.
4
Letter to Ferdinand Hiller, Berlin, July 15, 1838.
5
Letter to Eduard Devrient, Lucerne, August 27, 1831.
6
Letter to Julius Schubring, Leipzig, Dec. 6, 1835.
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It was probably more common for him to hear music in his head in a general
way but not fully worked out the way Mozart apparently did. Mendelssohn wrote
to his former teacher, Moscheles, in 1839,
I want to write a new concerto, but so far it is swimming about in my
head in a shapeless condition.7
And there appear to have been limits to the length of time music remained n his
head if it were not set on paper.
At this moment a whole mass of music is buzzing in my head, I trust
that it will not, please God, pass away quickly.8
When Mendelssohn spoke of the music he carried around in his head it was
also a synonym for the inspiration he valued most, writing what was in his heart.
I feel that in every new piece I succeed better in learning to write
exactly what is in my heart, and, after all, that is the only correct rule I
know.9
The importance of this was clear to him already when he was a young man.
Every day I am more sincerely anxious to write exactly as I feel, and
to have even less regard than ever for outside opinions; and when I have
composed a piece just as it sprang from my heart, then I have done my duty;
whether hereafter it brings fame, honor, decorations, or snuffboxes, etc., is a
matter of indifference to me.10
Late in life he expressed this conviction in a more extensive discussion in a letter to a
young composer. It seems clear that “writing what is in the heart” was the essence
of Truth in music for Mendelssohn.
The question is then solely what is felt and experienced within a man’s
own breast, and uttered from the depths of his heart, be it grave or gay,
bitter or sweet, -- character and life are displayed here; and in order to
prevent existence being dissipated and wasted when brilliant and happy, or
depressed and destroyed when the reverse, there is but one safeguard, -- to
work, and to go on working. So, for your sake, I have only one wish, that you
may bring to light what exists within you, in your nature and feelings, which
none save yourself can know or possess. In your works, go deeper into your
inmost being, and let them bear a distinct stamp; let criticism and intellect
7
Letter to Ignaz Moscheles, Leipzig, Nov. 30, 1839.
8
Letter to Pastor Bauer, Berlin, April 6, 1833.
9
Letter to Ferdinand David, Berlin, July 30, 1838.
10
Letter to Eduard Devrient, Milan, July 15, 1831.
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rule as much as you please in all outward questions and forms, but in all
inner and original thought, the heart alone, and genuine feelings.11
The following year he mentions again how important it was to him to write what is
in his heart.
Ever since I began to compose, I have remained true to my starting
principle: not to write a page because no matter what public, or what pretty
girl wanted it to be thus or thus; but to write solely as I myself thought best,
and as it gave me pleasure.12
Thus we can see that Mendelssohn was always confident that writing from
the heart was the correct course, but as a young man he was not always confident
that he could judge if the result was good or not. He confides to his family,
I can unfortunately form no judgment of my new compositions; I
cannot tell whether they are good or bad; and this arises from the
circumstance that all the people to whom I have played anything for the last
12 months, forthwith glibly declared it to be wonderfully beautiful, and that
will never do. I really wish that some one would let me have a little rational
blame once more, or what would be still more agreeable, a little rational
praise, and then I should find it less indispensable to act the censor towards
myself, and to be so distrustful of my own powers.13
Six years later he is full of confidence in his ability to judge his own works, as we see
in a letter to his mother.
I may well say that I now see, beyond doubt, that all the attention is
only bestowed on me because in the course of my work I do not in the least
concern myself as to what people wish and praise and pay for, but solely as to
what I consider good, so I shall now less than ever allow myself to be turned
aside from my own path.14
Mendelssohn would have said that the source of this music in his head was
God, but he also credited some other things which helped his creative thoughts
along. Like Beethoven, he found inspiration in nature. In an early letter from
England he writes,
11
Letter to Carl Eckert, Berlin, Jan. 26, 1842.
12
Letter to Eduard Devrient, Leipzig, June 28, 1843. Devrient in his later book, My Recollections of Felix
Mendelssohn (London, 1869), 275, recalled hearing Mendelssohn say that even if the music he wrote from
the heart came out sounding like Bach, it was only a sign that it was to have been so.
13
Letter to his family, Untersee, August 10, 1831.
14
Letter to his mother, Leipzig, Oct. 4, 1837.
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I had to be off into the country, found no carriage, and was obliged to
walk in the cool of the evening; a number of musical ideas came to me, and I
sang them out loud, for I was walking along a meadow path and met no one;
the whole sky was grey with a purple streak on the horizon, and the thick
cloud of smoke lay behind me. As soon as I find some peace and quiet,
whether here or in Scotland, I shall write various things....15
And similarly from Switzerland he writes the famous Goethe,
I shall never forget the time that I have just spent roaming about the
mountains on foot, all alone, without knowing a soul, and thinking of nothing
but the new and wonderful things that burst upon me every moment. 16
We can imagine there were many things which inspired Mendelssohn’s
creative activity. He mentioned once that just the “gay life” in Munich inspired him
with many new ideas.17 And in Italy he was inspired by looking at famous paintings.
Often, after doing so, I feel musically inspired, and since I came here I
have been busily engaged in composition.18
Since Mendelssohn possessed very uneven health, just being in a period when
he felt well was enough to stimulate his composition. During one of these periods he
wrote his parents from Rome,
I am healthier and happier than I have been for a long time, and take
such delight in my work, and feel such an urge for it, that I expect to
accomplish much more than I anticipated; indeed, I have already done a
good deal. If it pleases Providence to grant me a continuation of this happy
mood, I look forward to the most delightful and productive winter.19
We see this same problem in a letter three years later when he writes of the
difficulty of composing under periods of ill health.
Do not expect too much of the compositions I shall bring with me.
You will be sure to find frequent traces of moodiness, which I can shake off
only slowly and by dint of an effort. I often feel as if I had never composed at
all, and had to learn everything over again. Now, however, I have got into
better trim and my last things will sound better.20
15
Letter to his family, London, June 7, 1829.
16
Letter to Goethe, Lucerne, August 28, 1831.
17
Letter to Carl Zelter, Munich, June 22, 1830.
18
Letter to Carl Zelter, Venice, Oct. 16, 1830.
19
Letter to his parents, Rome, Nov. 8, 1830.
20
Letter to Ignaz Moscheles, Berlin, Feb. 7, 1833.
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Sometimes his correspondence record “bad days” which render him somewhat
depressed.
I do feel sometimes as if I should never succeed; and today I am quite
dissatisfied with my work....21
And there were days when inspiration just did not come and he tells us that
at such moments he turned again to Nature.
The moment my work ceases to progress, I always hope to find some
resource in the open air, so I go out but think of anything and everything
except my work, and do nothing but wander about.22
Mendelssohn particularly found it impossible to find inspiration under
circumstances where he was asked to compose on demand. Even in the case of the
famous Muzio Clementi, who sent him,
a few English verses and begged me to set them to music. This will be hard
for me because I “must”....23
Similarly, when the English publisher, Novello, demanded church music of
Mendelssohn in 1832, his correspondence speaks of his boredom, that the music
does not flow naturally and that he just spends hours writing counterpoint and
canons. This kind of composition, he writes his friend Klingemann, “does not
count.”24
Aside from Mendelssohn’s difficulty in finding inspiration to fulfill
commissions, he found it quite impossible to compose as part of any competition.
It strongly revived my feeling as to the utter impossibility of my ever
composing anything with a view to competing for a prize. I should never be
able even to make a beginning.25
Before leaving the topic of Mendelssohn’s inspiration we should mention
some the specific circumstances where he found difficulty. One is with regard to
21
Letter to Ignaz Moscheles, Düsseldorf, March 25, 1835.
22
Letter to his family, Rome, March 29, 1831.
23
Letter to his sisters, London, Sept. 10, 1829. Muzio Clementi, 1752-1832, a great composer who had a
fundamental influence on Beethoven, was not deemed by the English to be famous enough to be buried in
Westminster Cathedral so he lies outside, next to a former cathedral plumber, his gravestone forming part
of a sidewalk.
24
Letter to Karl Klingemann, Berlin, August 4, 1832. See also his letter to Moscheles, Berlin, August 10,
1832.
25
Letter to Ludwig Spohr, Düsseldorf, March 8, 1835.
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setting text to music, for the usual text-painting, etc., he found insincere. He has left
a very valuable letter which discusses his viewpoint.
Now for my critical spectacles, and a reply about your Becker
“Rheinlied.” I like it very much; it is well written, and sounds joyous and
exhilarating, but (for a but must of course be uttered by every critic) the
whole poem is quite unsuitable for composition, and essentially unmusical. I
am well aware that in saying this I rashly throw down the gauntlet to both of
you, and many of my colleagues in Germany; but such is my opinion, and the
worst part of it is, that I am confirmed in it by most of the compositions that
I know. (For Heaven’s sake, let this remain a secret between us, otherwise,
as journalists publish every trifle nowadays, I may possibly be some day
conveyed across the frontiers as a Frenchman.) But, jesting apart, I can only
imagine music when I can realize the mood from which it emanates; mere
artistically correct tones to suit the rhythm of the poetry, becoming forte
when the words are vehement, and piano when they are meek, sounding very
pretty, but expressing nothing, -- I never yet could comprehend; and still
such is the only music I can discover for this poem. Neither forcible, nor
effective, nor poetical, but only supplementary, collateral music. The latter,
however, I do not choose to write. In such cases, the fable of the two vases
often recurs to me, who set off together on a voyage, but in rolling to and fro
one smashed his companion, the one being made of clay and the other of
iron.26
Mendelssohn seems to us to be concerned here with the distinction between
superficial and genuine feeling. Two months later he writes another thoughtful
letter which addresses this idea.
I perceive a certain spirit, especially in your overture, which I myself
know only too well, for in my opinion it caused my “Reformation Symphony”
to fail, but which can be surely and infallibly banished by assiduous work of
different kinds. Just as the French, by conjuring tricks and overwrought
sentiment, endeavor to make their style harrowing and exciting, so I believe
it is possible, through a natural repugnance to this style, to fall into the other
extreme, and so greatly to dread all that is piquant or sensuous, that at last
the musical idea does not remain sufficiently bold or interesting; that instead
of a tumor there is a wasting away....
.....
The important point is to make a melody, or anything of the kind
which is in itself musical, really interesting....27
A letter to Moscheles in 1834 discusses the difficulty Mendelssohn was
experiencing in writing music for the piano. He complains of difficulty in thinking
26
Letter to Julius Schubring, Leipzig, Feb. 27, 1841.
27
Letter to Julius Rietz, Leipzig, April 23, 1841.
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of new forms for piano music and especially in trying to write a quiet piece for
piano. He says he sits down and forces himself to begin improvising very quietly,
but it is of no use and he soon falls back into the brilliant style.28 Several years later
he was still having difficulty writing piano music and even being afraid to write
down on paper the notes when the ideas came to him for “something really suitable
for the piano.”29
Regarding his actual work in composition Mendelssohn points to having “a
long morning to myself in my own quiet room” as being a key for “prosperous
work.”30 In another place he adds that to compose “a certain mood is
indispensable,” but he does not elaborate. This being in a “certain mood” made it
very difficult for Mendelssohn to understand how someone could turn creativity
into a regular discipline. He mentioned this when recalling a conversation he had
with Goethe after having rediscovered Schiller’s “Wilhelm Tell.”
In the course of a long conversation about Schiller, he said that
Schiller had been able to supply two great tragedies every year, besides other
poems. This business-like term, “supply,” struck me as the more remarkable
on reading this fresh, vigorous work....31
Whatever his requirements necessary to good composition, it is also clear
that he could, again like Mozart, produce music sometimes at great speed. In a
letter to his family he describes a recital by a fine singer, Madame Botgorscheck,
who had requested that Mendelssohn, too, should appear on the program. Having
occurred to the composer that he had nothing suitable to play,
I resolved to compose a rondo [for piano and orchestra], not one single note
of which was written the day before yesterday, but which I am to perform
this evening with the whole orchestra, and rehearsed this morning.... How I
shall play it the gods alone know, -- indeed hardly they – for in one passage I
have marked a pause of 15 bars in the orchestra accompaniment and have
not as yet the most remote idea what I am to play during this time.32
28
Letter to Ignaz Moscheles, Düsseldorf, Feb. 7, 1834.
29
Letter to Ferdinand Hiller, Berlin, august 17, 1838. Mendelssohn writes here that his interest is turning
to piano chamber music.
30
Letter to Charlotte Moscheles, Jan. 10, 1835. Also see his letter to Julius Schubring, Coblenz, Sept. 6,
1833.
31
Letter to Eduard Devrient, Lucerne, Aug. 27, 1831.
32
Leipzig, April 2, 1838.
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Finally, Mendelssohn learned the fundamental lesson of editing and proof-
reading, time spent which he could neither enjoy nor avoid.
I had intended publishing several things at this time, instead of which
here I am correcting parts, marking tempi, and attending to the long list of
odiosa that are always sure to take a dire revenge on the man who dares
neglect them.33
At the end of his life, after the premiere of his Elijah, he revealed,
I hope to eliminate successfully many things that disturbed me at the
first performance.... Unfortunately I only discover these things post festum.34
One of his friends, Eduard Devrient, recalled that it was when faced with
publication that Mendelssohn became most conscious of editing and proof-reading.
I have an awful reverence for print, and I must go on improving my
things until I feel sure they are all I can make them.35
Mendelssohn himself mentioned once that after all the changes he could later hardly
recognize his own music.
As long as the compositions remain here with me they never cease to
torment me, because I so much dislike to see such nice, clean manuscript pass
into the dirty hands of engravers, customers and the public. I bolster up a
little here, smooth out a little there and go on improving them just in order to
keep them here. But when the proofs are once here, they are as foreign and
indifferent to me as if they had been written by a stranger. 36
The most interesting observations which one finds in Mendelssohn’s
discussion of editing are relative to the music which had come into his head
spontaneously. This music, which he considered given by God, he found he could
not later change. He mentioned this once in a letter to a fellow composer,
as ideas cannot be either more highly finished or sharpened, but must be
taken and made use of as they come, as a kind Providence sends them. 37
33
Letter to Ignaz Moscheles, Leipzig, Oct. 28, 1838.
34
Letter to Karl Klingemann, Leipzig, Dec. 6, 1846.
35
Devrient, Op. cit., 195ff.
36
Letter to Karl Klingemann, Leipzig, June 12, 1843. Aaron Copland once told me the same thing.
37
Letter to Julius Rietz, Leipzig, April 23, 1841. See also his letter to his sister, Rebecca, Frankfurt, July 2,
1836.
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