And why? Was there any thing
particular in 'Der Phaedon,' on the immortality of the soul? Not at all;
it left us quite as mortal as it found us; and it has long since been
found mortal itself. Its venerable remains are still to be met with in
many worm-eaten trunks, pasted on the lids of which I have myself perused
a matter of thirty pages, except for a part that had been too closely
perused by worms. But the key to all the popularity of the Platonic
Mendelssohn, is to be sought in the whimsical nature of German liberality,
which, in those days, forced Jews into paying toll at the gates of cities,
under the title of 'swine,' but caressed their infidel philosophers. Now,
in this category of Jew and infidel, stood the author of 'Phaedon.' He was
certainly liable to toll as a hog; but, on the other hand, he was much
admired as one who despised the Pentateuch. Now _that_ Mendelssohn,
whose learned labors lined our trunks, was the father of _this_
Mendelssohn, whose Greek music afflicts our ears. Naturally, then, it
strikes me, that as 'papa' Mendelssohn attended the synagogue to save
appearances, the filial Mendelssohn would also attend it. I likewise
attended the synagogue now and then at Liverpool, and elsewhere. We all
three have been cruising in the same latitudes; and, trusting to my own
remembrances, I should pronounce that Mendelssohn has stolen his Greek
music from the synagogue.
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