Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician

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The influence of the tender passion on the development of heart
and mind cannot be rated too highly; it is in nine out of ten, if
not in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases that which transforms
the rhymer into a poet, the artificer into an artist. Chopin
confesses his indebtedness to Constantia, Schumann his to Clara.
But who could recount all the happy and hapless loves that have
made poets? Countless is the number of those recorded in
histories, biographies, and anecdotes; greater still the number
of those buried in literature and art, the graves whence they
rise again as flowers, matchless in beauty, unfading, and of
sweetest perfume. Love is indeed the sun that by its warmth
unfolds the multitudinous possibilities that lie hidden, often
unsuspected, in the depths of the human soul. It was, then,
according to Chopin, about April, 1829, that the mighty power
began to stir within him; and the correspondence of the following
two years shows us most strikingly how it takes hold of him with
an ever-increasing firmness of grasp, and shakes the whole fabric
of his delicate organisation with fearful violence. The object of
Chopin's passion, the being whom he worshipped and in whom he saw
the realisation of his ideal of womanhood, was Constantia
Gladkowska, a pupil at the Warsaw Conservatorium, of whom the
reader will learn more in the course of this and the next
chapter.

What reveals perhaps more distinctly than anything else Chopin's
idiosyncrasy is his friendship for Titus Woyciechowski. At any
rate, it is no exaggeration to say that a knowledge of the nature
of Chopin's two passions, his love and his friendship--for this,
too, was a passion with him--gives into our hands a key that
unlocks all the secrets of his character, of his life, and of
their outcome--his artistic work. Nay more, with a full
comprehension of, and insight into, these passions we can foresee
the sufferings and disappointments which he is fated to endure.
Chopin's friendship was not a common one; it was truly and in the
highest degree romantic. To the sturdy Briton and gay Frenchman
it must be incomprehensible, and the German of four or five
generations ago would have understood it better than his
descendant of to-day is likely to do. If we look for examples of
such friendship in literature, we find the type nowhere so
perfect as in the works of Jean Paul Richter. Indeed, there are
many passages in the letters of the Polish composer that read
like extracts from the German author: they remind us of the
sentimental and other transcendentalisms of Siebenkas, Leibgeber,
Walt, Vult, and others. There was somethine in Chopin's warm,
tender, effusive friendship that may be best characterised by the
word "feminine." Moreover, it was so exacting, or rather so
covetous and jealous, that he had often occasion to chide, gently
of course, the less caressing and enthusiastic Titus. Let me give
some instances.
December 27th, 1828.--If I scribble to-day again so much
nonsense, I do so only in order to remind you that you are as
much locked in my heart as ever, and that I am the same Fred
I was. You do not like to be kissed; but to-day you must
permit me to do so.

The question of kissing is frequently brought up.

September 12th, 1829.--I embrace you heartily, and kiss you
on your lips if you will permit me.

October 20th, 1829.--I embrace you heartily--many a one
writes this at the end ol his letter, but most people do so
with little thought of what they are writing. But you may
believe me, my dearest friend, that I do so sincerely, as
truly as my name is Fred.

September 4th, 1830.--Time passes, I must wash myself...do
not kiss me now...but you would not kiss me in any case--even
if I anointed myself with Byzantine oils--unless I forced you
to do so by magnetic means.

Did we not know the writer and the person addressed, one might
imagine that the two next extracts were written by a lover to his
mistress or vice versa.

November 14th, 1829.--You, my dearest one, do not require my
portrait. Believe me I am always with you, and shall not
forget you till the end of my life.

May 15th, 1830.--You have no idea how much I love you! If I
only could prove it to you! What would I not give if I could
once again right heartily embrace you!

One day he expresses the wish that he and his friend should
travel together. But this was too commonplace a sentiment not to
be refined upon. Accordingly we read in a subsequent letter as
follows:--

September 18th, 1830.--I should not like to travel with you,
for I look forward with the greatest delight to the moment
when we shall meet abroad and embrace each other; it will be
worth more than a thousand monotonous days passed with you on
the journey.
From another passage in one of these letters we get a good idea
of the influence Titus Woyciechowski exercised on his friend.

April 10, 1830.--Your advice is good. I have already refused
some invitations for the evening, as if I had had a
presentiment of it--for I think of you in almost everything I
undertake. I do not know whether it comes from my having
learned from you how to feel and perceive; but when I compose
anything I should much like to know whether it pleases you;
and I believe that my second Concerto (E minor) will have no
value for me until you have heard it and approved of it.

I quoted the above passage to show how Chopin felt that this
friendship had been a kind of education to him, and how he valued
his friend's opinion of his compositions--he is always anxious to
make Titus acquainted with anything new he may have composed. But
in this passage there is another very characteristic touch, and
it may easily be overlooked, or at least may not receive the
attention which it deserves--I allude to what Chopin says of
having had "a presentiment." In superstitiousness he is a true
child of his country, and all the enlightenment of France did not
succeed in weaning him from his belief in dreams, presentiments,
good and evil days, lucky and unlucky numbers, &c. This is
another romantic feature in the character of the composer; a
dangerous one in the pursuit of science, but advantageous rather
than otherwise in the pursuit of art. Later on I shall have to
return to this subject and relate some anecdotes, here I shall
confine myself to quoting a short passage from one of his early
letters.

April 17, 1830.--If you are in Warsaw during the sitting of
the Diet, you will come to my concert--I have something like
a presentiment, and when I also dream it, I shall firmly
believe it.

And now, after these introductory explanations, we will begin the
chapter in right earnest by taking up the thread of the story
where we left it. On his return to Warsaw Chopin was kept in a
state of mental excitement by the criticisms on his Vienna
performances that appeared in German papers. He does not weary of
telling his friend about them, transcribing portions of them, and
complaining of Polish papers which had misrepresented the drift
and mistranslated the words of them. I do not wonder at the
incorrectness of the Polish reports, for some of these criticisms
are written in as uncouth, confused, and vague German as I ever
had the misfortune to turn into English. One cannot help
thinking, in reading what Chopin says with regard to these
matters, that he showed far too much concern about the utterances
of the press, and far too much sensitiveness under the infliction
of even the slightest strictures. That, however, the young
composer was soon engaged on new works may be gathered from the
passage (Oct. 3, 1829), quoted at the commencement of this
chapter, in which he speaks of the Adagio of a concerto, and a
waltz, written whilst his thoughts were with his ideal. These
compositions were the second movement of the F minor Concerto and
the Waltz, Op. 70, No. 3. But more of this when we come to
discuss the works which Chopin produced in the years 1829 and
1830.

One of the most important of the items which made up our friend's
musical life at this time was the weekly musical meetings at the
house of Kessler, the pianist-composer characterised in Chapter
X. There all the best artists of Warsaw assembled, and the
executants had to play prima vista whatever was placed before
them. Of works performed at two of these Friday evening meetings,
we find mentioned Spohr's Octet, described by Chopin as "a
wonderful work"; Ries's Concerto in C sharp minor (played with
quartet accompaniment), Hummel's Trio in E major, Prince Louis
Ferdinand of Prussia's Quartet, and Beethoven's last Trio, which,
Chopin says, he could not but admire for its magnificence and
grandeur. To Brzezina's music-shop he paid a visit every day,
without finding there, however, anything new, except a Concerto
by Pixis, which made no great impression upon him. That Chopin
was little satisfied with his situation may be gathered from the
following remarks of his:--

You cannot imagine how sad Warsaw is to me; if I did not feel
happy in my home circle I should not like to live here. Oh,
how bitter it is to have no one with whom one can share joy
and sorrow; oh, how dreadful to feel one's heart oppressed
and to be unable to express one's complaints to any human
soul! You know full well what I mean. How often do I tell my
piano all that I should like to impart to you!

Of course the reader, who is in the secret, knows as well as
Titus knew, to whom the letter was addressed, that Chopin alludes
to his love. Let us mark the words in the concluding sentence
about the conversations with his piano. Chopin was continually
occupied with plans for going abroad. In October, 1829, he writes
that, wherever fate may lead him, he is determined not to spend
the winter in Warsaw. Nevertheless, more than a year passed away
before he said farewell to his native city. He himself wished to
go to Vienna, his father seems to have been in favour of Berlin.
Prince Radziwill and his wife had kindly invited him to come to
the Prussian capital, and offered him apartments in their palais.
But Chopin was unable to see what advantages he could derive from
a stay in Berlin. Moreover, unlike his father, he believed that
this invitation was no more than "de belles paroles." By the way,
these remarks of Chopin's furnish a strong proof that the Prince
was not his patron and benefactor, as Liszt and others have
maintained. While speaking of his fixed intention to go
somewhere, and of the Prince's invitation, Chopin suddenly
exclaims with truly Chopinesque indecision and capriciousness:--

But what is the good of it all? Seeing that I have begun so
many new works, perhaps the wisest thing I can do is to stay
here.

Leaving this question undecided, he undertook in October, 1829, a
journey to Posen, starting on the 20th of that month. An
invitation from Prince Radziwill was the inducement that led him
to quit the paternal roof so soon after his return to it. His
intention was to remain only a fortnight from home, and to visit
his friends, the Wiesiolowskis, on the way to Antonin. Chopin
enjoyed himself greatly at the latter place. The wife of the
Prince, a courteous and kindly lady, who did not gauge a man's
merits by his descent, found the way to the heart of the composer
by wishing to hear every day and to possess as soon as possible
his Polonaise in F minor (Op. 71, No. 3). The young Princesses,
her daughters, had charms besides those of their beauty. One of
them played the piano with genuine musical feeling.

I have written [reports Chopin to his friend Titus on
November 14, 1829] during my visit at Prince Radziwill's an
Alla Polacca with violoncello. It is nothing more than a
brilliant salon piece, such as pleases ladies. I would like
Princess Wanda to practise it, so that it might be said that
I had taught her. She is only seventeen years old and
beautiful; it would be delightful to have the privilege of
placing her pretty fingers on the keys. But, joking apart,
her soul is endowed with true musical feeling, and one does
not need to tell her whether she is to play crescendo, piano,
or pianissimo.

According to Liszt, Chopin fondly remembered his visits to
Antonin, and told many an anecdote in connection with them.

The Princess Elisa, one of the daughters of Prince Radziwill,
who died in the first bloom of her life, left him [Chopin]
the sweet image of an angel exiled for a short period here
below.

A passage in the letter of Chopin from which I last quoted throws
also a little light on his relation to her.

You wished one of my portraits; if I could only have pilfered
one of Princess Elisa's, I should certainly have sent it; for
she has two portraits of me in her album, and I am told that
these drawings are very good likenesses.

The musical Prince would naturally be attracted by, and take an
interest in, the rising genius. What the latter's opinion of his
noble friend as a composer was, he tells Titus Woyciechowski at
some length. I may here say, once for all, that all the letters
from which extracts are given in this chapter are addressed to
this latter.

You know how the Prince loves music; he showed me his "Faust"
and I found in it some things tnat are really beautiful,
indeed, in part even grandly conceived. In confidence, I
should not at all have credited the Namiestnik [governor,
lord-lieutenant] with such music! Among other things I was
struck by a scene in which Mephistopheles allures Margaret to
the window by his singing and guitar-playing, while at the
same time a chorale is heard from the neighbouring church.
This is sure to produce a great effect at a performance. I
mention this only that you may form an idea of his musical
conceptions. He is a great admirer of Gluck. Theatrical music
has, in his opinion, significance only in so far as it
illustrates the situation and emotion; the overture,
therefore, has no close, and leads at once into the
introduction. The orchestra is placed behind the stage and is
always invisible, in order that the attention of the audience
may not be diverted by external, such as the movements of the
conductor and executants.

Chopin enjoyed himself so much at Antonin that if he had
consulted only his pleasure he would have stayed till turned out
by his host. But, although he was asked to prolong his visit, he
left this "Paradise" and the "two Eves" after a sojourn of eight
days. It was his occupations, more especially the F minor
Concerto, "impatiently waiting for its Finale," that induced him
to practise this self-denial. When Chopin had again taken
possession of his study, he no doubt made it his first business,
or at least one of the first, to compose the wanting movement,
the Rondo, of his Concerto; as, however, there is an interval of
more than four months in his extant letters, we hear no more
about it till he plays it in public. Before his visit to Antonin
(October 20, 1829) he writes to his friend that he has composed
"a study in his own manner," and after the visit he mentions
having composed "some studies."

Chopin seems to have occasionally played at the Ressource. The
reader will remember the composer's intention of playing there
with Fontana his Rondo for two pianos. On November 14, 1829,
Chopin informs his friend Titus that on the preceding Saturday
Kessler performed Hummel's E major Concerto at the Ressource, and
that on the following Saturday he himself would perhaps play
there, and in the case of his doing so choose for his piece his
Variations, Op. 2. Thus composing, playing, and all the time
suffering from a certain loneliness--"You cannot imagine how
everywhere in Warsaw I now find something wanting! I have nobody
with whom I can speak, were it only two words, nobody whom I can
really trust"--the day came when he gave his first concert in his
native city. This great event took place on March 17, 1830, and
the programme contained the following pieces:--

PART I

1. Overture to the Opera "Leszek Bialy," by Elsner.

2. Allegro from the Concerto in F minor, composed and played
by F. Chopin.

3. Divertissement for the French horn, composed and played by
Gorner.

4. Adagio and Rondo from the Concerto in F minor, composed
and played by Chopin.

PART II

1. Overture to the Opera "Cecylja Piaseczynska," by
Kurpinski.

2. Variations by Paer, sung by Madame Meier.

3. Pot-pourri on national airs, composed and played by
Chopin.

Three days before the concert, which took place in the theatre,
neither box nor reserved seat was to be had. But Chopin complains
that on the whole it did not make the impression he expected.
Only the Adagio and Rondo of his Concerto had a decided success.
But let us see the concert-giver's own account of the
proceedings.

The first Allegro of the F minor Concerto (not intelligible
to all) received indeed the reward of a "Bravo," but I
believe this was given because the public wished to show that
it understands and knows how to appreciate serious music.
There are people enough in all countries who like to assume
the air of connoisseurs! The Adagio and Rondo produced a very
great effect. After these the applause and the "Bravos" came
really from the heart; but the Pot-pourri on Polish airs
missed its object entirely. There was indeed some applause,
but evidently only to show the player that the audience had
not been bored.

We now hear again the old complaint that Chopin's playing was too
delicate. The opinion of the pit was that he had not played loud
enough, whilst those who sat in the gallery or stood in the
orchestra seem to have been better satisfied. In one paper, where
he got high praise, he was advised to put forth more energy and
power in the future; but Chopin thought he knew where this power
was to be found, and for the next concert got a Vienna instrument
instead of his own Warsaw one. Elsner, too, attributed the
indistinctness of the bass passages and the weakness of tone
generally to the instrument. The approval of some of the
musicians compensated Chopin to some extent for the want of
appreciation and intelligence shown by the public at large
"Kurpinski thought he discovered that evening new beauties in my
Concerto, and Ernemann was fully satisfied with it." Edouard
Wolff told me that they had no idea in Warsaw of the real
greatness of Chopin. Indeed, how could they? He was too original
to be at once fully understood. There are people who imagine that
the difficulties of Chopin's music arise from its Polish national
characteristics, and that to the Poles themselves it is as easy
as their mother-tongue; this, however, is a mistake. In fact,
other countries had to teach Poland what is due to Chopin. That
the aristocracy of Paris, Polish and native, did not comprehend
the whole Chopin, although it may have appreciated and admired
his sweetness, elegance, and exquisiteness, has been remarked by
Liszt, an eye and ear-witness and an excellent judge. But his
testimony is not needed to convince one of the fact. A subtle
poet, be he ever so national, has thoughts and corresponding
language beyond the ken of the vulgar, who are to be found in all
ranks, high and low. Chopin, imbued as he was with the national
spirit, did nevertheless not manifest it in a popularly
intelligible form, for in passing through his mind it underwent a
process of idealisation and individualisation. It has been
repeatedly said that the national predominates over the universal
in Chopin's music; it is a still less disputable truth that the
individual predominates therein over the national. There are
artist-natures whose tendency is to expand and to absorb; others
again whose tendency is to contract and to exclude. Chopin is one
of the most typical instances of the latter; hence, no wonder
that he was not at once fully understood by his countrymen. The
great success which Chopin's subsequent concerts in Warsaw
obtained does not invalidate E. Wolff's statement, which indeed
is confirmed by the composer's own remarks on the taste of the
public and its reception of his compositions. Moreover, we shall
see that those pieces pleased most in which, as in the Fantasia
and Krakowiak, the national raw material was merely more or less
artistically dressed up, but not yet digested and assimilated; if
the Fantasia left the audience cold at the first concert, this
was no doubt owing to the inadequacy of the performance.

No sooner was the first concert over than, with his head still
full of it, Chopin set about making preparations for a second,
which took place within a week after the first. The programme was
as follows:--

PART I

1. Symphony by Nowakowski.

2. Allegro from the Concerto in F minor, composed and played by
Chopin.

3. Air Varie by De Beriot, played by Bielawski.

4. Adagio and Rondo from the Concerto in F minor, composed and
played by Chopin.

PART II

1. Rondo Krakowiak, composed and played by Chopin.

2. Aria from "Elena e Malvina" by Soliva, sung by Madame Meier.

3. Improvisation on national airs.

This time the audience, which Chopin describes as having been
more numerous than at any other concert, was satisfied. There was
no end to the applause, and when he came forward to bow his
acknowledgments there were calls of "Give another concert!" The
Krakowiak produced an immense effect, and was followed by four
volleys of applause. His improvisation on the Polish national air
"W miescie dziwne obyczaje" pleased only the people in the dress-
circle, although he did not improvise in the way he had intended
to do, which would not have been suitable for the audience that
was present. From this and another remark, that few of the haute
volee had as yet heard him, it appears that the aristocracy, for
the most part living on their estates, was not largely
represented at the concert. Thinking as he did of the public, he
was surprised that the Adagio had found such general favour, and
that he heard everywhere the most flattering remarks. He was also
told that "every note sounded like a bell," and that he had
"played much better on the second than on the first instrument."
But although Elsner held that Chopin could only be judged after
the second concert, and Kurpinski and others expressed their
regret that he did not play on the Viennese instrument at the
first one, he confesses that he would have preferred playing on
his own piano. The success of the concerts may be measured by the
following facts: A travelling virtuoso and former pupil of the
Paris Conservatoire, Dunst by name, offered in his enthusiasm to
treat Chopin with champagne; the day after the second concert a
bouquet with a poem was sent to him; his fellow-student Orlowski
wrote mazurkas and waltzes on the principal theme of the
Concerto, and published them in spite of the horrified composer's
request that he should not do so; Brzezina, the musicseller,
asked him for his portrait, but, frightened at the prospect of
seeing his counterfeit used as a wrapper for butter and cheese,
Chopin declined to give it to him; the editor of the "Courier"
inserted in his paper a sonnet addressed to Chopin. Pecuniarily
the concerts were likewise a success, although the concert-giver
was of a different opinion. But then he seems to have had quite
prima donna notions about receipts, for he writes very coolly:
"From the two concerts I had, after deduction of all expenses,
not as much as 5,000 florins (about 125 pounds)." Indeed, he
treats this part of the business very cavalierly, and declares
that money was no object with him. On the utterances of the
papers, which, of course, had their say, Chopin makes some
sensible and modest comments.

After my concerts there appeared many criticisms; if in them
(especially in the "Kuryer Polski") abundant praise was
awarded to me, it was nevertheless not too extravagant. The
"Official Journal" has also devoted some columns to my
praise; one of its numbers contained, among other things,
such stupidities--well meant, no doubt--that I was quite
desperate till I had read the answer in the "Gazeta Polska,"
which justly takes away what the other papers had in their
exaggeration attributed to me. In this article it is said
that the Poles will one day be as proud of me as the Germans
are of Mozart, which is palpable nonsense. But that is not
all, the critic says further: "That if I had fallen into the
hands of a pedant or a Rossinist (what a stupid expression!)
I could not have become what I am." Now, although I am as yet
nothing, he is right in so far that my performance would be
still less than it actually is if I had not studied under
Elsner.

Gratifying as the praise of the press no doubt was to Chopin, it
became a matter of small account when he thought of his friend's
approving sympathy. "One look from you after the concert would
have been worth more to me than all the laudations of the critics
here." The concerts, however, brought with them annoyances as
well as pleasures. While one paper pointed out Chopin's strongly-
marked originality, another advised him to hear Rossini, but not
to imitate him. Dobrzynski, who expected that his Symphony would
be placed on one of the programmes, was angry with Chopin for not
doing so; a lady acquaintance took it amiss that a box had not
been reserved for her, and so on. What troubled our friend most
of all, and put him quite out of spirits, was the publication of
the sonnet and of the mazurkas; he was afraid that his enemies
would not let this opportunity pass, and attack and ridicule him.
"I will no longer read what people may now write about me," he
bursts out in a fit of lachrymose querulousness. Although pressed
from many sides to give a third concert, Chopin decided to
postpone it till shortly before his departure, which, however,
was farther off than he imagined. Nevertheless, he had already
made up his mind what to play--namely, the new Concerto (some
parts of which had yet to be composed) and, by desire, the
Fantasia and the Variations.