tastes of Felix and Fanny were alike:  she was the confidante of his ambitions, and thus was created between them an artistic sympathy, which from childhood greatly strengthened the family bond.  Growing up amid love and devotion, to say nothing of the admiration accorded his genius in the home circle, with tastes, naturally refined, cultivated to the utmost both by education and absorption, he was apt to be most fastidious in the choice of a wife.  Fastidiousness in everything was, in fact, one of his traits.  One has but to recall how, one after another, he rejected the subjects that were offered him for operatic composition.  “I am afraid,” said his father, who was quite anxious to see his famous son properly settled in life, “that Felix’s censoriousness will prevent his getting a wife as well as a libretto.”

[Illustration:  Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy.]

It may have been a regretful feeling that he had disappointed his father by not marrying which led him, after the latter’s sudden death in November, 1835, to consider the matter more seriously.  He hastened to Berlin to his mother, and then returned to Leipsic, where he had charge of the famous Gewandhaus concerts.  He settled down to work again, and especially to finish his oratorio of “St. Paul.”  In March, 1836, the University of Leipsic made him a Ph.D.

In May or June of this year a friend and colleague named Schelble, who conducted the Caecilia Singing Society at Frankfort-on-the-Main, was taken ill, and, desiring to rest and recuperate, asked Mendelssohn to officiate in his place.  The request came at an inconvenient time, for he had planned to take some recreation himself, and had mapped out a tour to Switzerland and Genoa.  But Felix was an obliging fellow, and promptly responded with an affirmative when his colleague called upon him for aid.  The unselfish relinquishment of his intended tour was to meet with a further reward than that which comes from the satisfaction of a good deed done at some self-sacrifice, and this reward was the more grateful because unexpected by his friends, his family, or even himself.  Yet it was destined to delight them all.

Felix was in Frankfort six weeks.  So short a period rarely leads to a decisive event in a man’s life, but did so in Mendelssohn’s case.  He occupied lodgings in a house on the Schoene Aussicht (Beautiful View), with an outlook upon the river.  But there was another beautiful view in Frankfort which occupied his attention far more, for among those he met during his sojourn in the city on the Main was Cecile,—­Cecile Charlotte Sophie Jeanrenaud.  Her father, long dead, had been the pastor of the French Walloon Reformed Church in Frankfort, where his widow and children moved in the best social circles of the city.  Cecile, then seventeen (ten years younger than Felix), was a “beauty” of a most delicate type.  Mme. Jeanrenaud still was a fine-looking woman, and possibly because of this fact, coupled with Felix’s shy manner in the presence of Cecile, now that for the first time his heart was deeply touched, it was at first supposed that he was courting the mother; and her children, Cecile included, twitted her on it.