During the next winter, hearing a complaint that Bach seemed like an arithmetical exercise, Felix formed a choir of sixteen voices for the practice of the _Passion Music_ at his house. That led to the public performance of the great neglected master-work a year later; and that to the "Bachgesellschaft" for the stately publication of all Bach's works, not yet completed. The little choir warmed to the heavenly music, and grew eager for its public performance, under Felix's own care, by the three to four hundred voices of the Singakademie, of which Zelter was Director. Besides the intrinsic difficulty of the music, there were two serious obstacles: the opposition of Zelter, and the apathy of the public. The first was overcome with the sanguine aid of his friend Devrient, the actor, who with him faced the lion in his den, and made him finally consent. The second melted to enthusiasm before the splendid success of the performance. Felix conducted the rehearsals without notes, knowing the music all by heart; the leading opera singers undertook the solos; the public flocked to the rehearsals; and on Wednesday, March 11, 1829, this greatest choral work of the great old master composer was introduced to the world for the first time since his death. A thousand people were turned away from the doors. Said Felix: "It was an actor and a Jew who restored this great Christian work to the people." That was the dawn of the Bach culture, which steadily if slowly gains ground in these our modern times. In the midst of this excitement, his gifted, darling sister Fanny became engaged to William Hensel, the distinguished Berlin painter. Mendelssohn had reached the age of twenty. Not on the best terms with the musical world of Berlin, he yearned for more congenial air and stimulus. To improve himself in art and general culture, and "to make friends," he set out on his "grand tour." He arrived in London (April 21), where he was welcomed by his friends Klingemann (then secretary of legation there) and Moscheles. At the Philharmonic Concert, May 25, he conducted his C-minor Symphony, old John Cramer leading him to the piano, at which in those days, the conductor sat or stood. The applause was immense, and the Scherzo (which he had scored from his Octet, in place of the Minuet and Trio) was persistently encored against his wish. The London reception had "wiped out the sneers and misunderstandings of Berlin." Near the close of his life he spoke of it as "having lifted a stone from his heart." Indeed, the English, from that day to this, have been warm, even to the extreme of partiality, in their enthusiasm for the man and for his music. He took part in several other London concerts, was much petted in aristocratic circles, and disported himself in so many fashionable balls and gaieties, that the sober family at home became alarmed for him.