Born on 14 November 1805, Fanny Hensel Mendelssohn came from a well-to-do German-Jewish family and was raised in a highly educated and cultured household in Berlin. Felix Mendelssohn, the renowned composer, was her brother, and they had two other siblings, Paul and Rebecka. While Felix became world-famous for his music, all the Mendelssohn children were musically gifted: Paul was a cellist (besides being a banker), Rebecka a singer, and Fanny an accomplished composer and pianist in her own right.
As her exceptional musical talent was recognised early by her parents, Fanny received the same musical education as her younger brother Felix, with whom she shared a special bond. Eventually, she composed more than 450 pieces of music, including many piano works and more than 200 songs. However, due to 19th-century gender norms —which discouraged women from pursuing professional artistic careers— most of Fanny's compositions remained unpublished during her lifetime. Several works were published under Felix's name, including some piano pieces later included in his famous collection, Songs Without Words (1829-1845). Only in the final year of her life did Fanny begin to publish her work under her own name: "Fanny Hensel, geb. [i.e. born] Mendelssohn-Bartholdy". (Hensel was her married name; in 1829, she married the artist Wilhelm Hensel, with whom she had one son.)
While Fanny grew up in a musical household where her talents were recognised and developed, her father Abraham — a banker and cultural patron— tolerated her musical aspirations rather than supported them; he wrote to her that "music will perhaps become his [i.e. Felix's] profession, while for you it can and must be only an ornament." By contrast, Felix not only supported Fanny's music, but also valued her judgment, with Fanny often acting as his unofficial musical adviser. Nevertheless, when it came to the issue of authorship of her work, Abraham and Felix both opposed the publication of Fanny's music under her own name. Those in her inner circle in favour of the idea were Fanny's husband Wilhelm and her mother Lea, herself a pianist and a musical promoter. (I'm not sure how her other siblings felt, but I can imagine that Rebecka, who sang Fanny's songs at the Sunday concerts at their Berlin family home, might also have been in favour.)
In June 1837, Felix Mendelssohn wrote to his mother Lea, his letter showing his opposition to the publication of Fanny's work under her own name. Apparently, Lea had asked him to persuade Fanny to seek publication. Felix told his mother he couldn't do what she asked of him, yet assured her that he would support Fanny should she, of her own accord, decide to publish. Knowing Fanny, Felix thought she wouldn't want to publish anyway ("She is too much all that a woman ought to be for this. She regulates her house, and neither thinks of the public nor of the musical world, nor even of music at all, until her first duties are fulfilled. Publishing would only disturb her in these ... ").
Frankfort, June 2nd, 1837.
... You write to me about Fanny’s new compositions, and say that I ought to persuade her to publish them. Your praise is, however, quite unnecessary to make me heartily rejoice in them, or think them charming and admirable; for I know by whom they are written. I hope, too, I need not say that if she does resolve to publish anything, I will do all in my power to obtain every facility for her, and to relieve her, so far as I can, from all trouble which can possibly be spared her. But to persuade her to publish anything I cannot, because this is contrary to my views and to my convictions. We have often formerly discussed the subject, and I still remain exactly of the same opinion. I consider the publication of a work as a serious matter (at least it ought to be so), for I maintain that no one should publish, unless they are resolved to appear as an author for the rest of their life. For this purpose, however, a succession of works is indispensable, one after another. Nothing but annoyance is to be looked for from publishing, where one or two works alone are in question; or it becomes what is called a “manuscript for private circulation,” which I also dislike; and from my knowledge of Fanny I should say she has neither inclination nor vocation for authorship. She is too much all that a woman ought to be for this. She regulates her house, and neither thinks of the public nor of the musical world, nor even of music at all, until her first duties are fulfilled. Publishing would only disturb her in these, and I cannot say that I approve of it. I will not, therefore, persuade her to this step,—forgive me for saying so. If she resolves to publish, either from her own impulse or to please Hensel, I am, as I said before, quite ready to assist her so far as I can; but to encourage her in what I do not consider right, is what I cannot do.
Six months earlier, in a letter dated 22 November 1836, Fanny had written to Felix, saying she felt neutral about publication. What mattered to her most was his approval; without it she didn't want to publish.
As for publishing my works, I feel like the donkey standing between two bundles of hay. I myself am quite neutral about it; to be perfectly honest, it makes no difference to me. Hensel wishes it, while you are opposed to it. In every other matter I would naturally follow my husband’s wishes without question, but in this case it is too important to me not to have your approval. Without it, I would not undertake anything of the kind.
A decade later, Fanny decided to publish. After being approached by two rival Berlin publishers, who had made her very good offers, she finally made up her mind. Without seeking her brother's approval, on 9 July 1846, she wrote to Felix, informing him of her decision.
Actually, I ought not to burden you with reading this nonsense, busy as you are, if I did not have to write to tell you something. But since I have known from the outset that you would not approve, I shall probably go about it rather awkwardly. Laugh at me if you like—or don’t—but at the age of forty I still have the same fear of my brothers that I had of my father when I was fourteen. Or rather, “fear” is not quite the right word. It is the desire to please all of you whom I love throughout my whole life. And when I already know in advance that I shall not succeed in doing so, I feel decidedly uncomfortable.
In short: I am beginning to publish my works. At last I have lent a willing ear to Mr. Bock’s faithful courtship of my songs and to the favorable terms he has offered. Since I have resolved upon this entirely of my own free will, and cannot blame any of my family if it should bring me trouble (though friends and acquaintances have certainly urged me toward it for a long time), I can also console myself with the knowledge that I have in no way sought after or deliberately cultivated the kind of musical reputation that may have led to such offers.
I hope I shall not bring disgrace upon you by doing so, since I am no femme libre and, unfortunately, certainly not a young Germany. Nor, I hope, will it cause you any annoyance, because—as you see—in order to spare you any possibly unpleasant moment, I have acted entirely independently. And so I hope you will not hold it against me.
If it succeeds—that is, if the works are well received and I receive further offers—I know it will be a great stimulus to me, which I always need in order to produce anything. If, on the other hand, it does not, then I shall simply be where I have always been. I shall not fret about it, and if I then work less, or no longer work at all, nothing will really have been lost.
Although Felix still didn’t approve, he wrote Fanny a month later, on 12 August 1846, saying: "[I] send you my professional blessing on becoming a member of the craft ... may you have much happiness in giving pleasure to others; may you taste only the sweets and none of the bitterness of authorship." Two days later, on 14 August, Fanny, who had been waiting impatiently for a word from her brother, wrote in her journal: "Felix has written, and given me his professional blessing in the kindest manner. I know that he is not quite satisfied in his heart of hearts, but I am glad he has said a kind word to me about it."
It was in the late summer of 1846 that Fanny finally published her first collection of songs as her Opus 1, and within months she published five more opuses. While she had prepared Op. 7 for publication, she passed away before it could be published. On 14 May 1847, as she was rehearsing one of Felix's cantatas, Fanny suffered a cerebral stroke and died. She was only 41 years old. Tragically, Felix died less than six months later from the same cause, at the age of 38.
In the months before his own death, Felix began collecting many of his sister's works to have them released to the public through his publisher, Breitkopf & Härtel. Felix was devastated by Fanny's death and sought to give her the recognition she deserved. Her husband Wilhelm also sought to preserve her legacy and oversaw the publication of several of her works. However, reactions from 19th-century critics to Fanny's published music were lukewarm; critics tended to view her work as identical or inferior to Felix's. It wasn’t until the 1980s that scholars took a renewed interest in her work and musicians began performing her music more often. Today, Fanny Hensel is recognised as an artist in her own right, with her own distinctive voice. Some scholars believe that, had she had been given the same opportunities as her brother, she could have become one of the 19th century's greatest composers.
Original German text of Fanny's second letter: Eigentlich sollte ich Dir jetzt gar nicht zumuthen, diesen Quark zu lesen, beschäftigt wie Du bist, wenn ich Dir nicht hätte schreiben müssen, um Dir etwas mitzutheilen. Da ich aber von Anfang an weiß, daß es Dir nicht recht ist, so werde ich mich etwas ungeschickt dazu anstellen, denn lache mich aus, oder nicht, ich habe mit 40 Jahren eine Furcht vor meinen Brüdern, wie ich sie mit 14 vor meinem Vater gehabt habe, oder vielmehr Furcht ist nicht das rechte Wort, sondern der Wunsch, Euch a. Allen die ich liebe, es in meinem ganzen Leben recht zu machen, u. wenn ich nun vorher weiß, daß es nicht der Fall seyn wird, so fühle ich mich rather unbehaglich dabei. Mit einem Wort, ich fange an herauszugeben, ich habe Herrn Bocks treuer Liebesbewerbung um meine Lieder, u. seinen vortheilhaften Bedingungen endlich ein geneigtes Ohr geliehen, u. wenn ich mich aus freier Bewegung dazu entschlossen habe, u. Niemanden von den Meinigen verklagen kann, wenn mir Verdruß daraus entsteht, (Freunde u. Bekannte haben mir allerdings lange zugeredet) so kann ich mich anderseits mit dem Bewußtseyn trösten, die Art von musikal. Ruf, die mir zu solchen Anerbietungen verholfen haben mag, auf keinerlei Weise gesucht oder herbeigeführt zu haben. Schande hoffe ich Euch nicht damit zu machen, da ich keine femme libre u. leider gar kein junges Deutschland bin. Verdruß wirst Du hoffentlich auch auf keine Weise dabei haben, da ich, um Dir jeden etwa unangenehmen Moment zu ersparen, wie Du siehst, durchaus selbständig verfahren bin, u. so hoffe ich, wirst Du es mir nicht übel nehmen. Gelingt es, d.h. daß die Sachen gefallen, u. ich mehr Anerbietungen bekomme, so weiß ich, daß es mir eine große Anregung seyn wird, deren ich immer bedarf, um etwas hervorzubringen, im andern Falle, bin ich so weit, wie ich immer gewesen bin, werde mich nicht grämen, u. wenn ich dann weniger oder nichts mehr arbeite, so ist ja dann auch nichts dabei verloren.
Source images: Wikimedia Commons
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