(classical music, 1830)
One of the elements in the standard mythology about artists is the idea that their art is born out of the struggles and difficulties of their life; without pain and deprivation it is not possible to produce great creative work. While that may be true for many of the great artists, every rule has exceptions, and Felix Mendelssohn is one of the exceptions to this one. Born into a wealthy family, provided with everything he needed to excel in his prodigious musical gifts, happily married, and with a highly successful career, Mendelssohn made great music in spite of all his good fortune. Throughout his musical career he produced works that impressed critics and won plaudits from audiences who enjoyed his lively, cheerful compositions.
Mendelssohn’s Fifth Symphony, known as The Reformation, was composed to honor the three-hundredth anniversary of the presentation of the Augsburg Confession, a key event in the Protestant Reformation. As a devout Lutheran, Mendelssohn wanted to celebrate this important historical moment with a full-scale work. It was the second symphony he wrote, though it was not formally published until after his death and therefore it is numbered fifth of his five symphonic works. Because of issues with his health, he could not complete it on time and it could not be performed as part of the festivities in Augsburg. In fact, it was not performed very often during his lifetime, many finding it either “too learned” or “too Protestant” for popular tastes.
The symphony draws upon Mendelssohn’s knowledge of the traditions of sacred music as well as his understanding of church history. It makes use of “The Dresden Amen” in its first movement, a sequence of six notes sung by choirs during German church services, and it ends with a majestic version of Martin Luther’s “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” in which the whole of the orchestra joins together in a blazing musical finale. Mendelssohn didn’t consider it one of his best works and was somewhat dismissive about it, so it was not published during his lifetime. But later audiences have found the piece to be a triumphant celebration of faith and recommitment to God and to his Word.
Felix Mendelssohn was born in Germany in 1809 to a well-to-do and culturally influential family. A childhood prodigy, he displayed astonishing gifts from a very early age, which his parents did everything possible to encourage. They went so far as to hire an orchestra to try out some of his youthful compositions. At age twelve he was even taken to visit the poet Goethe, a living cultural icon, who sat for hours, entranced by the musical skill of this young man. Mendelssohn’s sister Fanny was also an exceptional musician, and in a less sexist age might have become a famous composer in her own right. A companion in musical performance, she also remained the best of his friends throughout his life.
When one considers musical prodigies, one cannot but think of Mozart, who is always celebrated for his youthful gifts, but Mendelssohn’s compositions at age sixteen show even more musical maturity than those of Mozart at a similar age. The string octet he composed at that young age is considered one of the masterpieces of chamber music. And his stirring Overture to a Midsummer Night’s Dream (1826), written just a year later, is a piece that still brings a smile to audiences who hear it performed, a veritable bubbling cauldron of joyousness.
Among Mendelssohn’s gifts as a composer was his ability to bring a youthful exuberance to almost every piece he wrote, works filled with energy, invention, and lovely melodies. He was a student of the great composers who had preceded him—Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, and especially Bach. He was responsible for a great revival of interest in Bach’s music after he arranged and conducted a performance of St. Matthew’s Passion, a work that had not been performed in public since Bach’s death in 1750. Mendelssohn knew the piece so well that when he mounted the podium to conduct and found that the wrong music had been placed there, he was able to conduct the entire piece from memory, turning the pages of the incorrect score so as not to raise concern among his musicians! But along with his knowledge and devotion to the classical heritage, he also felt the influence of the budding Romantic movement and injected its lush sensibility into the classic forms forged by his heroes, which makes him a sort of bridge between the two musical eras.
There is a lightness, sweetness, and joy to Mendelssohn’s work that reflects the pleasure and serenity he found in his life. This has caused many to wonder if he would have produced even greater music if his life had involved more struggles. But isn’t there a place in music for the expression of happiness and contentment? Do we not need the sunny, cheerful joys of Mendelssohn’s melodies to counterbalance the angst of Beethoven and Mahler? Surely music need not be grave to be serious.
In 1830 Mendelssohn embarked on a grand tour of Europe, during which he visited six countries. His favorite stop was Italy, which inspired his Italian Symphony. For a time Mendelssohn was generally regarded as “the greatest living composer.” He directed the orchestra in Leipzig (which he crafted into the best in Europe) and founded a conservatory of music with Robert and Clara Schumann.
His Italian Symphony (1833), the gorgeous Violin Concerto (1844), and his piano works such as Songs Without Words (1829–45) have all entered the canon of essential pieces in the classical repertoire, but some of his tuneful music is also known (if not recognized as such) by almost everybody. His “Wedding March” from the Incidental Music to a Midsummer Night’s Dream (1842) is the celebratory music to which countless couples have walked down the aisle at the conclusion of their ceremony, and the tune of one of the most popular Christmas carols, “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,” is also from Mendelssohn’s pen.
Mendelssohn traveled to Britain several times during his career and became immensely popular there, counting Queen Victoria and Prince Albert among his biggest fans. His religious works, especially his oratorios, were particular favorites in Britain, including an oratorio based on the life of the apostle Paul (1836), for which he did much preparatory research and study, as he felt he “must not make any mistakes.” Perhaps, as a converted Jew himself, he identified in many ways with the apostle. His oratorio Elijah (1840) is probably his greatest sacred choral work, based upon the life of the great Old Testament prophet. It has dramatic urgency, and the majestic choruses are not unlike those of Handel, whom he admired, but it also has some spectacular touches all its own, such as the “sound pictures” created to represent earthquakes, fire, and the pounding of the ocean.
Mendelssohn composed furiously throughout his career, driven by a fierce work ethic and the sheer joy he found in musical composition. He wrote, “Even the smallest task in music is so absorbing, and carries us so far away from town, country, earth, and all worldly things, that it is truly a blessed gift of God.”1 Even while he took great pleasure in all his hard work, it may have affected his health and caught up with him in the end, leading to his premature death at age thirty-eight. When he was informed in May 1847 of the unexpected death of his sister, he fainted and a blood vessel burst in his brain. Inconsolable with grief, he suffered debilitating pain and depression, leading to a steady decline and his own passing in November of that same year.
Though Mendelssohn was born into a Jewish family (his grandfather was the famous Jewish philosopher Moses Mendelssohn), his parents converted to Christianity when the children were small and had them baptized into the Lutheran faith. Some skeptics have suggested that his parents’ conversion was more about opening doors of cultural advancement than due to any strong religious conviction, but even if that was the case, Felix Mendelssohn took his faith seriously throughout his life. He was a man of prayer, and not hesitant to ask others to pray for him. In a letter to one of his friends, he wrote, echoing Psalm 51:10, “Pray to God that He might create in us a clean heart and renew a right spirit within us.”2
When Mendelssohn composed, he sometimes imitated Bach’s habit of scribbling exclamations and prayers into the margins of his scores, jotting down such things as “Let it succeed, God!” and “Help along.” He saw his skills as a gift from God, and felt a personal responsibility to use them, saying, “I know perfectly well that no musician can make his thoughts or talents different to what Heaven has made them; but I also know that if Heaven has given him good ones, he must also be able to develop them properly.”3 Shortly before his death, which he anticipated to be imminent, he wrote, “A great chapter has now ended, and neither the title nor even the first word of the next is yet written. But God will make it all right one day; this suits the beginning and end of all chapters.”4