Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician

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The works enumerated above may be divided into three groups, the
first of which comprises the Sonata, the Trio, and the Rondo for
two pianos.

The Sonata (in C minor) for piano, Op. 4, of which Chopin wrote
as early as September 9, 1828, that it had been for some time in
the hands of Haslinger at Vienna, was kept by this publisher in
manuscript till after the composer's death, being published only
in July, 1851. "As a pupil of his I dedicated it to Elsner," says
Chopin. It is indeed a pupil's work--an exercise, and not a very
successful one. The exigencies of the form overburdened the
composer and crushed all individuality out of him. Nowhere is
Chopin so little himself, we may even say so unlike himself. The
distribution of keys and the character of the themes show that
the importance of contrast in the construction of larger works
was still unsuspected by him. The two middle movements, a
Menuetto and a Larghetto--although in the latter the self-imposed
fetters of the 5-4 time prevent the composer from feeling quite
at his ease--are more attractive than the rest. In them are
discernible an approach to freedom and something like a breath of
life, whereas in the first and the last movement there is almost
nothing but painful labour and dull monotony. The most curious
thing, however, about this work is the lumbering passage-writing
of our graceful, light-winged Chopin.

Infinitely superior to the Sonata is the Trio for piano, violin,
and violoncello, Op. 8, dedicated to Prince Anton Radziwill,
which was published in March, 1833. It was begun early in 1828,
was "not yet finished" on September 9, and "not yet quite
finished" on December 27 of that year. Chopin tried the first
movement in the summer of 1828, and we may assume that, a few
details and improvements excepted, the whole was completed at the
beginning of 1829. A considerable time, however, elapsed before
the composer declared it ready for the press. On August 31, 1830,
he writes:--

I tried the Trio last Sunday and was satisfied with it,
perhaps because I had not heard it for a long time. I suppose
you will say, "What a happy man!" Something occurred to me on
hearing it--namely, that it would be better to employ a viola
instead of the violin, for with the violin the E string
dominates most, whilst in my Trio it is hardly ever used. The
viola would stand in a more proper relation to the
violoncello. Then the Trio will be ready for the press.

The composer did not make the intended alteration, and in this he
was well advised. For his remarks betray little insight; what
preciousness they possess they owe for the most part to the
scarcity of similar discussions of craftsmanship in his letters.
From the above dates we see that the composer bestowed much time,
care, and thought upon the work. Indeed, there can be no doubt
that as regards conventional handling of the sonata-form Chopin
has in no instance been more successful. Were we to look upon
this work as an exercise, we should have to pronounce it a most
excellent one. But the ideal content, which is always estimable
and often truly beautiful as well as original, raises it high
above the status of an exercise. The fundamental fault of the
Trio lies in this, that the composer tried to fill a given form
with ideas, and to some extent failed to do so--the working-out
sections especially testify to the correctness of this opinion.
That the notion of regarding form as a vessel--a notion oftener
acted upon than openly professed--is a mischievous one will
hardly be denied, and if it were denied, we could not here
discuss so wide a question as that of "What is form?" The
comparatively ineffective treatment of the violin and violoncello
also lays the composer open to censure. Notwithstanding its
weaknesses the work was received with favour by the critics, the
most pronounced conservatives not excepted. That the latter gave
more praise to it than to Chopin's previously-published
compositions is a significant fact, and may be easily accounted
for by the less vigorous originality and less exclusive
individuality of the Trio, which, although superior in these
respects to the Sonata, Op. 4, does not equal the composer's
works written in simpler forms. Even the most hostile of Chopin's
critics, Rellstab, the editor of the Berlin musical journal Iris,
admits--after censuring the composer's excessive striving after
originality, and the unnecessarily difficult pianoforte passages
with their progressions of intervals alike repellent to hand and
ear--that this is "on the whole a praiseworthy work, which, in
spite of some excursions into deviating bye-paths, strikes out in
a better direction than the usual productions of the modern
composers" (1833, No. 21). The editor of the Leipzig "Allgemeine
musikalische Zeitung," a journal which Schumann characterises as
"a sleepy place," is as eulogistic as the most rabid Chopin
admirer could wish. Having spoken of the "talented young man" as
being on the one hand under the influence of Field, and on the
other under that of Beethoven, he remarks:--

In the Trio everything is new: the school, which is the neo-
romantic; the art of pianoforte-playing, the individuality,
the originality, or rather the genius--which, in the
expression of a passion, unites, mingles, and alternates so
strangely with that amiable tenderness [Innigkeit] that the
shifting image of the passion hardly leaves the draughtsman
time to seize it firmly and securely, as he would fain do;
even the position of the phrases is unusual. All this,
however, would be ambiguous praise did not the spirit, which
is both old and new, breathe through the new form and give it
a soul.

I place these criticisms before the reader as historical
documents, not as final decisions and examples of judicial
wisdom. In fact, I accept neither the strictures of the one nor
the sublimifications of the other, although the confident self-
assertion of the former and the mystic vagueness of the latter
ought, according to use and wont, to carry the weight of
authority with them. Schumann, the Chopin champion par
excellence, saw clearer, and, writing three years later (1836),
said that the Trio belonged to Chopin's earlier period when the
composer still allowed the virtuoso some privileges. Although I
cannot go so far as this too admiring and too indulgent critic,
and describe the work as being "as noble as possible, more full
of enthusiasm than the work of any other poet [so schwarmerisch
wie noch kein Dichter gesungen], original in its smallest
details, and, as a whole, every note music and life," I think
that it has enough of nobility, enthusiasm, originality, music,
and life, to deserve more attention than it has hitherto
obtained.

Few classifications can at one and the same time lay claim to the
highest possible degree of convenience--the raison d'etre of
classifications--and strict accuracy. The third item of my first
group, for instance, might more properly be said to stand
somewhere between this and the second group, partaking somewhat
of the nature of both. The Rondo, Op. 73, was not originally
written for two pianos. Chopin wrote on September 9, 1828, that
he had thus rearranged it during a stay at Strzyzewo in the
summer of that year. At that time he was pretty well pleased with
the piece, and a month afterwards talked of playing it with his
friend Fontana at the Ressource. Subsequently he must have
changed his opinion, for the Rondo did not become known to the
world at large till it was published posthumously. Granting
certain prettinesses, an unusual dash and vigour, and some points
of interest in the working-out, there remains the fact that the
stunted melodies signify little and the too luxuriant passage-
work signifies less, neither the former nor the latter possessing
much of the charm that distinguishes them in the composer's later
works. The original in this piece is confined to the passage-
work, and has not yet got out of the rudimentary stage. Hence,
although the Rondo may not be unworthy of finding occasionally a
place in a programme of a social gathering with musical
accompaniments and even of a non-classical concert, it will
disappoint those who come to it with their expectations raised by
Chopin's chefs-d'oeuvre, where all is poetry and exquisiteness of
style.

The second group contains Chopin's concert-pieces, all of which
have orchestral accompaniments. They are: (1) "La ci darem la
mano, varie pour le piano," Op. 2; (2) "Grande Fantaisie sur des
airs polonais," Op. 13; (3) "Krakowiak, Grande Rondeau de
Concert," Op. 14. Of these three the first, which is dedicated to
Titus Woyciechowski, has become the most famous, not, however, on
account of its greater intrinsic value, but partly because the
orchestral accompaniments can be most easily dispensed with, and
more especially because Schumann has immortalised it by--what
shall I call it ?--a poetic prose rhapsody. As previously stated,
the work had already in September, 1828, been for some time at
Vienna in the hands of Haslinger; it was probably commenced as
far back as 1827, but it did not appear in print till 1830.
[FOOTNOTE: It appeared in a serial publication entitled Odeon,
which was described on the title-page as: Ausgewahlte grosse
Concertstucke fur verschiedene Instrumente (Selected Grand
Concert-Pieces for different instruments).] On April 10 of that
year Chopin writes that he expects it impatiently. The appearance
of these Variations, the first work of Chopin published outside
his own country, created a sensation. Of the impression which he
produced with it on the Viennese in 1829 enough has been said in
the preceding chapter. The Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung
received no less than three reviews of it, two of them--that of
Schumann and one by "an old musician"--were accepted and inserted
in the same number of the paper (1831, Vol. xxxiii., No. 49); the
third, by Friedrich Wieck, which was rejected, found its way in
the following year into the musical journal Caecilia. Schumann's
enthusiastic effusion was a prophecy rather than a criticism. But
although we may fail to distinguish in Chopin's composition the
flirting of the grandee Don Juan with the peasant-girl Zerlina,
the curses of the duped lover Masetto, and the jeers and laughter
of the knavish attendant Leporello, which Schumann thought he
recognised, we all obey most readily and reverently his
injunction, "Hats off, gentlemen: a genius!" In these words lies,
indeed, the merit of Schumann's review as a criticism. Wieck felt
and expressed nearly the same, only he felt it less passionately
and expressed it in the customary critical style. The "old
musician," on the other hand, is pedantically censorious, and the
redoubtable Rellstab (in the Iris) mercilessly condemnatory.
Still, these two conservative critics, blinded as they were by
the force of habit to the excellences of the rising star, saw
what their progressive brethren overlooked in the ardour of their
admiration--namely, the super-abundance of ornament and
figuration. There is a grain of truth in the rather strong
statement of Rellstab that the composer "runs down the theme with
roulades, and throttles and hangs it with chains of shakes."
What, however, Rellstab and the "old musician"--for he, too,
exclaims, "nothing but bravura and figuration!"--did not see, but
what must be patent to every candid and unprejudiced observer,
are the originality, piquancy, and grace of these fioriture,
roulades, &c., which, indeed, are unlike anything that was ever
heard or seen before Chopin's time. I say "seen," for the
configurations in the notation of this piece are so different
from those of the works of any other composer that even an
unmusical person could distinguish them from all the rest; and
there is none of the timid groping, the awkward stumbling of the
tyro. On the contrary, the composer presents himself with an ease
and boldness which cannot but command admiration. The reader will
remember what the Viennese critic said about Chopin's "aim"; that
it was not to dazzle by the superficial means of the virtuoso,
but to impress by the more legitimate ones of the genuine
musician. This is true if we compare the Chopin of that day with
his fellow-virtuosos Kalkbrenner, Herz, &c.; but if we compare
him with his later self, or with Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn,
Schumann, &c., the case is different. Indeed, there can be no
doubt but that in this and the other pieces of this group,
Chopin's aim was that of the virtuoso, only his nature was too
rich, too noble, to sink into the inanity of an insipid,
conventional brilliancy. Moreover, whilst maintaining that in the
works specified language outruns in youthful exuberance thought
and emotion, I hasten to add that there are premonitory signs--
for instance, in the Op. 2 under discussion, more especially in
the introduction, the fifth variation, and the Finale--of what as
yet lies latent in the master's undeveloped creative power.

The Grande Fantaisie sur des airs polonais (A major) for the
pianoforte and orchestra, Op. 13, dedicated to J. P. Pixis, and
published in April, 1834, and the Krakowiak, Grand Rondeau de
Concert (F major) for the pianoforte and orchestra, Op. 14,
dedicated to the Princesse Adam Czartoryska, and published in
June, 1834, are the most overtly Polish works of Chopin. Of the
composition of the former, which, according to Karasowski, was
sketched in 1828, the composer's letters give no information; but
they contain some remarks concerning the latter. We learn that
the score of the Krakowiak was finished by December 27, 1828, and
find the introduction described as having "as funny an appearance
as himself in his pilot-cloth overcoat." In the Fantasia the
composer introduces and variates a Polish popular song (Juz
miesiac zaszedl), and an air by the Polish composer Kurpinski,
and concludes with a Kujawiak, a dance of the mazurka species, in
3-4 time, which derives its name from the district called
Kujawia. In connection with this composition I must not omit to
mention that the first variation on the Polish popular song
contains the germ of the charming Berceuse (Op. 57). The Rondo,
Op. 14, has the character of a Krakowiak, a dance in 2-4 time
which originated in Cracovia. In no other compositions of the
master do the national elements show themselves in the same
degree of crudity; indeed, after this he never incorporates
national airs and imitates so closely national dances. Chopin
remains a true Pole to the end of his days, and his love of and
attachment to everything Polish increase with the time of absence
from his native country. But as the composer grows in maturity,
he subjects the raw material to a more and more thorough process
of refinement and development before he considers it fit for
artistic purposes; the popular dances are spiritualised, the
national characteristics and their corresponding musical idioms
are subtilised and individualised. I do not agree with those
critics who think it is owing to the strongly-marked, exclusive
Polish national character that these two works have gained so
little sympathy in the musical world; there are artistic reasons
that account for the neglect, which is indeed so great that I do
not remember having heard or read of any virtuoso performing
either of these pieces in public till a few years ago, when
Chopin's talented countrywoman Mdlle. Janotha ventured on a
revival of the Fantasia, without, however, receiving, in spite of
her finished rendering, much encouragement. The works, as wholes,
are not altogether satisfactory in the matter of form, and appear
somewhat patchy. This is especially the case in the Fantasia,
where the connection of parts is anything but masterly. Then the
arabesk-element predominates again quite unduly. Rellstab
discusses the Fantasia with his usual obtuseness, but points out
correctly that Chopin gives only here and there a few bars of
melody, and never a longer melodic strain. The best parts of the
works, those that contain the greatest amount of music, are
certainly the exceedingly spirited Kujawiak and Krakowiak. The
unrestrained merriment that reigns in the latter justifies, or,
if it does not justify, disposes us to forgive much. Indeed, the
Rondo may be said to overflow with joyousness; now the notes run
at random hither and thither, now tumble about head over heels,
now surge in bold arpeggios, now skip from octave to octave, now
trip along in chromatics, now vent their gamesomeness in the most
extravagant capers.

The orchestral accompaniments, which in the Variations, Op. 2,
are of very little account, show in every one of the three works
of this group an inaptitude in writing for any other instrument
than the piano that is quite surprising considering the great
musical endowments of Chopin in other respects. I shall not dwell
on this subject now, as we shall have to consider it when we come
to the composer's concertos.

The fundamental characteristics of Chopin's style--the loose-
textured, wide-meshed chords and arpeggios, the serpentine
movements, the bold leaps--are exaggerated in the works of this
group, and in their exaggeration become grotesque, and not
unfrequently ineffective. These works show us, indeed, the
composer's style in a state of fermentation; it has still to pass
through a clearing process, in which some of its elements will be
secreted and others undergo a greater or less change. We, who
judge Chopin by his best works, are apt to condemn too
precipitately the adverse critics of his early compositions. But
the consideration of the luxuriance and extravagance of the
passage-work which distinguish them from the master's maturer
creations ought to caution us and moderate our wrath. Nay more,
it may even lead us to acknowledge, however reluctantly, that
amidst the loud braying of Rellstab there occurred occasionally
utterances that were by no means devoid of articulation and
sense. Take, for instance, this--I do not remember just now a
propos of which composition, but it is very appropriate to those
we are now discussing:--"The whole striving of the composer must
be regarded as an aberration, based on decided talent, we admit,
but nevertheless an aberration." You see the most hostile of
Chopin's critics does not deny his talent; indeed, Rellstab
sometimes, especially subsequently, speaks quite patronisingly
about him. I shall take this opportunity to contradict the
current notion that Chopin had just cause to complain of
backwardness in the recognition of his genius, and even of
malicious attacks on his rising reputation. The truth of this is
already partly disproved by the foregoing, and it will be fully
so by the sequel.

The pieces which I have formed into a third group show us the
composer free from the fetters that ambition and other
preoccupations impose. Besides Chopin's peculiar handling we find
in them more of his peculiar sentiment. If the works of the first
group were interesting as illustrating the development of the
student, those of the second group that of the virtuoso, and
those of both that of the craftsman, the works of the third group
furnish us most valuable documents for the history of the man and
poet. The foremost in importance of the pieces comprised in this
group are no doubt the three polonaises, composed respectively in
the years 1827, 1828, and 1829. The bravura character is still
prominent, but, instead of ruling supreme, it becomes in every
successive work more and more subordinate to thought and emotion.
These polonaises, although thoroughly Chopinesque, nevertheless
differ very much from his later ones, those published by himself,
which are generally more compact and fuller of poetry. Moreover,
I imagine I can see in several passages the influence of Weber,
whose Polonaise in E flat minor, Polacca in E major, Sonata in A
flat major, and Invitation a la Valse (to mention a few apposite
instances), respectively published in 1810, 1819, 1816, and 1821,
may be supposed to have been known to Chopin. These
reminiscences, if such they are, do not detract much from the
originality of the compositions; indeed, that a youth of eighteen
should have attained such a strongly-developed individuality as
the D minor Polonaise exhibits, is truly wonderful.

The Nocturne of the year 1827 (Op. 72, No. 1, E minor) is
probably the poorest of the early compositions, but excites one's
curiosity as the first specimen of the kind by the incomparable
composer of nocturnes. Do not misunderstand me, however, and
imagine that I wish to exalt Chopin at the expense of another
great musician. Field has the glory not only of having originated
the genre, but also of having produced examples that have as yet
lost nothing, or very little, of their vitality. His nocturnes
are, indeed, a rich treasure, which, undeservedly neglected by
the present generation, cannot be superseded by those of his
illustrious, and now favoured successor. On the other hand,
although Field's priority and influence on Chopin must be
admitted, the unprejudiced cannot but perceive that the latter is
no imitator. Even where, as for instance in Op. 9, Nos. 1 and 2,
the mejody or the form of the accompaniment shows a distinct
reminiscence of Field, such is the case only for a few notes, and
the next moment Chopin is what nobody else could be. To watch a
great man's growth, to trace a master's noble achievements from
their humble beginnings, has a charm for most minds. I,
therefore, need not fear the reader's displeasure if I direct his
attention to some points, notable on this account--in this case
to the wide-meshed chords and light-winged flights of notes, and
the foreshadowing of the Coda of Op. 9.

Of 1827 we have also a Mazurka in A minor, Op. 68, No. 2. It is
simple and rustic, and at the same time graceful. The trio (poco
piu mosso), the more original portion of the Mazurka, reappears
in a slightly altered form in later mazurkas. It is these
foreshadowings of future beauties, that make these early works so
interesting. The above-mentioned three polonaises are full of
phrases, harmonic, progressions, &c., which are subsequently
reutilised in a. purer, more emphatic, more developed, more
epigrammatic, or otherwise more perfect form. We notice the same
in the waltzes which remain yet to be discussed here.

Whether these Waltzes (in B minor, Op. 69, No. 2; and in E major,
without opus number) were really written in the early part of
1829, or later on in the year, need not be too curiously inquired
into. As I have already remarked, they may certainly be classed
along with the above-discussed works. The first is the more
interesting of them. In both we meet with passages that point to
more perfect specimens of the kind--for instance, certain
rhythmical motives, melodic inflections, and harmonic
progressions, to the familiar Waltzes in E flat major (Op. 18)
and in A flat major (Op. 34, No. 1); and the D major portion of
the Waltz in B minor, to the C major part of the Waltz in A minor
(Op. 34, No. 2). This concludes our survey of the compositions of
Chopin's first period.

In the legacy of a less rich man, the Funeral March in C minor,
Op. 72b, composed (according to Fontana) in 1829, [FOOTNOTE: In
Breitkopf and Hartel's Gesammtausgabe of Chopin's works will be
found 1826 instead of 1829. This, however, is a misprint, not a
correction.]would be a notable item; in that of Chopin it counts
for little. Whatever the shortcomings of this composition are,
the quiet simplicity and sweet melancholy which pervade it must
touch the hearer. But the master stands in his own. light; the
famous Funeral March in B flat minor, from the Sonata in B flat
minor, Op. 35, composed about ten years later, eclipses the more
modest one in C minor. Beside the former, with its sublime force
and fervency of passion and imposing mastery of the resources of
the art, the latter sinks into weak insignificance, indeed,
appears a mere puerility. Let us note in the earlier work the
anticipation, (bar 12) of a motive of the chef-d'ceuvre (bar 7),
and reminiscences of the Funeral March from Beethoven's. Sonata
in A flat major, Op. 26.

CHAPTER IX.

CHOPIN'S FIRST LOVE.--FRIENDSHIP WITH TITUS WOYCIECHOWSKI.--LIFE
IN WARSAW AFTER RETURNING FROM VIENNA.--VISIT TO PRINCE RADZIWILL
AT ANTONIN (OCTOBER, 1829).--NEW COMPOSITIONS.--GIVES TWO
CONCERTS.

IN the preceding chapter I alluded to a new element that entered
into the life of Chopin and influenced his artistic work. The
following words, addressed by the young composer on October 3,
1829, to his friend Titus Woyciechowski, will explain what kind
of element it was and when it began to make itself felt:--

Do not imagine that [when I speak of the advantages and
desirability of a stay in Vienua] I am thinking of Miss
Blahetka, of whom I have written to you; I have--perhaps to
my misfortune--already found my ideal, which I worship
faithfully and sincerely. Six months have elapsed, and I have
not yet exchanged a syllable with her of whom I dream every
night. Whilst my thoughts were with her I composed the Adagio
of my Concerto, and early this morning she inspired the Waltz
which I send along with this letter.