Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician

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Shortly after the concert at the Theatre-Italien, Chopin ventured
once more to face that terrible monster, the public. On Sunday,
April 26, 1835, he played at a benefit concert of Habeneck's,
which is notable as the only concert of the Societe des Concerts
du Conservatoire in which he took part. The programme was as
follows:--1. The "Pastoral Symphony," by Beethoven; 2. "The Erl-
King," by Schubert, sung by M. Ad. Nourrit; 3. Scherzo from the
"Choral Symphony," by Beethoven; 4. "Polonaise avec introduction"
[i.e., "Polonaise brillante precedee d'un Andante spianato"],
composed and played by M. Chopin; 5. Scena, by Beethoven, sung by
Mdlle. Falcon; 6. Finale from the C minor Symphony, by Beethoven.
The writer of the article Chopin in Larousse's "Grand
Dictionnaire" says that Chopin had no reason to repent of having
taken part in the concert, and others confirm this statement. In
Elwart's "Histoire des Concerts du Conservatoire" we read:--"Le
compositeur reveur, l'elegiaque pianiste, produisit a ce concert
un effet delicieux." To the author of the "Histoire dramatique en
France" and late curator of the Musee du Conservatoire I am
indebted for some precious communications. M. Gustave Chouquet,
who at the time we are speaking of was a youth and still at the
College, informed me in a charming letter that he was present at
this concert at which Chopin played, and also at the preceding
one (on Good Friday) at which Liszt played Weber's
"Concertstuck," and that he remembered very well "the fiery
playing of Liszt and the ineffable poetry of Chopin's style." In
another letter M. Chouquet gave a striking resume of the vivid
reminiscences of his first impressions:--

Liszt, in 1835 [he wrote], represented a merveilleux the
prototype of the virtuoso; while in my opinion Chopin
personified the poet. The first aimed at effect and posed as
the Paganini of the piano; Chopin, on the other hand, seemed
never to concern himself [se preuccuper] about the public,
and to listen only to the inner voices. He was unequal; but
when inspiration took hold of him [s'emparait de hit] he made
the keyboard sing in an ineffable manner. I owe him some
poetic hours which I shall never forget.

One of the facts safely deducible from the often doubtful and
contradictory testimonies relative to Chopin's public
performances is, that when he appeared before a large and mixed
audience he failed to call forth general enthusiasm. He who
wishes to carry the multitude away with him must have in him a
force akin to the broad sweep of a full river. Chopin, however,
was not a Demosthenes, Cicero, Mirabeau, or Pitt. Unless he
addressed himself to select conventicles of sympathetic minds,
the best of his subtle art remained uncomprehended. How well
Chopin knew this may be gathered from what he said to Liszt:--

I am not at all fit for giving concerts, the crowd
intimidates me, its breath suffocates me, I feel paralysed by
its curious look, and the unknown faces make me dumb. But you
are destined for it, for when you do not win your public, you
have the power to overwhelm it.

Opposition and indifference, which stimulate more vigorous
natures, affected Chopin as touch does the mimosa pudica, the
sensitive plant--they made him shrink and wither. Liszt observes
correctly that the concerts did not so much fatigue Chopin's
physical constitution as provoke his irritability as a poet;
that, in fact, his delicate constitution was less a reason than a
pretext for abstention, he wishing to avoid being again and again
made the subject of debate. But it is more difficult for one in
similar circumstances not to feel as Chopin did than for a
successful virtuoso like Liszt to say:--

If Chopin suffered on account of his not being able to take
part in those public and solemn jousts where popular
acclamation salutes the victor; if he felt depressed at
seeing himself excluded from them, it was because he did not
esteem highly enough what he had, to do gaily without what he
had not.

To be sure, the admiration of the best men of his time ought to
have consoled him for the indifference of the dull crowd. But do
we not all rather yearn for what we have not than enjoy what we
have? Nay, do we not even often bewail the unattainableness of
vain bubbles when it would be more seasonable to rejoice in the
solid possessions with which we are blessed? Chopin's discontent,
however, was caused by the unattainableness not of a vain bubble,
but of a precious crown. There are artists who pretend to despise
the great public, but their abuse of it when it withholds its
applause shows their real feeling. No artist can at heart be
fully satisfied with the approval of a small minority; Chopin, at
any rate, was not such a one. Nature, who had richly endowed him
with the qualities that make a virtuoso, had denied him one,
perhaps the meanest of all, certainly the least dispensable, the
want of which balked him of the fulfilment of the promise with
which the others had flattered him, of the most brilliant reward
of his striving. In the lists where men much below his worth won
laurels and gold in abundance he failed to obtain a fair share of
the popular acclamation. This was one of the disappointments
which, like malignant cancers, cruelly tortured and slowly
consumed his life.

The first performance of Bellini's "I Puritani" at the Theatre-
Italien (January 24, 1835), which as well as that of Halevy's "La
Juive" at the Academic (February 23, 1835), and of Auber's "Le
cheval de bronze" at the Opera-Comique (March 23, 1835), was one
of the chief musico-dramatic events of the season 1834-1835,
reminds me that I ought to say a few words about the relation
which existed between the Italian and the Polish composer. Most
readers will have heard of Chopin's touching request to be buried
by the side of Bellini. Loath though I am to discredit so
charming a story, duty compels me to state that it is wholly
fictitious. Chopin's liking for Bellini and his music, how ever,
was true and real enough. Hiller relates that he rarely saw him
so deeply moved as at a performance of Norma, which they attended
together, and that in the finale of the second act, in which
Rubini seemed to sing tears, Chopin had tears in his eyes. A
liking for the Italian operatic music of the time, a liking which
was not confined to Bellini's works, but, as Franchomme, Wolff,
and others informed me, included also those of Rossini, appears
at first sight rather strange in a musician of Chopin's
complexion; the prevalent musical taste at Warsaw, and a kindred
trait in the national characters of the Poles and Italians,
however, account for it. With regard to Bellini, Chopin's
sympathy was strengthened by the congeniality of their individual
temperaments. Many besides Leon Escudier may have found in the
genius of Chopin points of resemblance with Bellini as well as
with Raphael--two artists who, it is needless to say, were
heaven-wide apart in the mastery of the craft of their arts,
and in the width, height, and depth of their conceptions. The
soft, rounded Italian contours and sweet sonorousness of some
of Chopin's cantilene cannot escape the notice of the observer.
Indeed, Chopin's Italicisms have often been pointed out. Let me
remind the reader here only of some remarks of Schumann's, made
apropos of the Sonata in B flat minor, Op. 35:--

It is known that Bellini and Chopin were friends, and that
they, who often made each other acquainted with their
compositions, may perhaps have had some artistic influence on
each other. But, as has been said, there is [on the part of
Chopin] only a slight leaning to the southern manner; as soon
as the cantilena is at an end the Sarmatian flashes out
again.

To understand Chopin's sympathy we have but to picture to
ourselves Bellini's personality--the perfectly well-proportioned,
slender figure, the head with its high forehead and scanty blonde
hair, the well-formed nose, the honest, bright look, the
expressive mouth; and within this pleasing exterior, the amiable,
modest disposition, the heart that felt deeply, the mind that
thought acutely. M. Charles Maurice relates a characteristic
conversation in his "Histoire anecdotique du Theatre." Speaking
to Bellini about "La Sonnambula," he had remarked that there was
soul in his music. This expression pleased the composer
immensely. "Oui, n'est-ce pas? De l'ame!" he exclaimed in his
soft Italian manner of speaking, "C'est ce que je veux...De
L'ame! Oh! je suis sensible! Merci!...C'est que l'ame, c'est
toute la musique!" "And he pressed my hands," says Charles
Maurice, "as if I had discovered a new merit in his rare talent."
This specimen of Bellini's conversation is sufficient to show
that his linguistic accomplishments were very limited. Indeed, as
a good Sicilian he spoke Italian badly, and his French was
according to Heine worse than bad, it was frightful, apt to make
people's hair stand on end.

When one was in the same salon with him, his vicinity inspired
one with a certain anxiety mingled with the fascination of terror
which repelled and attracted at the same time. His puns were not
always of an amusing kind. Hiller also mentions Bellini's bad
grammar and pronunciation, but he adds that the contrast between
what he said and the way he said it gave to his gibberish a charm
which is often absent from the irreproachable language of trained
orators. It is impossible to conjecture what Bellini might have
become as a musician if, instead of dying before the completion
of his thirty-third year (September 24, 1835), he had lived up to
the age of fifty or sixty; thus much, however, is certain, that
there was still in him a vast amount of undeveloped capability.
Since his arrival in Paris he had watched attentively the new
musical phenomena that came there within his ken, and the
"Puritani" proves that he had not done so without profit. This
sweet singer from sensuous Italy was not insensible even to the
depth and grandeur of German music. After hearing Beethoven's
Pastoral Symphony, for instance, he said to Hiller, his eyes
glistening as if he had himself done a great deed: "E bel comme
la nature!" [Footnote: I give the words literally as they are
printed in Hiller's Kimmerleben. The mixture of Italian and
French was no doubt intended, but hardly the spelling.] In short,
Bellini was a true artist, and therefore a meet companion for a
true artist like Chopin, of whose music it can be said with
greater force than of that of most composers that "it is all
soul." Chopin, who of course met Bellini here and there in the
salons of the aristocracy, came also in closer contact with him
amidst less fashionable but more congenial surroundings. I shall
now let Hiller, the pleasant story-teller, speak, who, after
remarking that Bellini took a great interest in piano-forte
music, even though it was not played by a Chopin, proceeds
thus:--

I can never forget some evenings which I spent with him
[Bellini] and Chopin and a few other guests at Madame
Freppa's. Madame Freppa, an accomplished and exceedingly
musical woman, born at Naples, but of French extraction, had,
in order to escape from painful family circumstances, settled
in Paris, where she taught singing in the most distinguished
circles. She had an exceedingly sonorous though not powerful
voice, and an excellent method, and by her rendering of
Italian folk-songs and other simple vocal compositions of the
older masters charmed even the spoiled frequenters of the
Italian Opera. We cordially esteemed her, and sometimes went
together to visit her at the extreme end of the Faubourg St.
Germain, where she lived with her mother on a troisieme au
dessus de l'entresol, high above all the noise and tumult of
the ever-bustling city. There music was discussed, sung, and
played, and then again discussed, played, and sung. Chopin
and Madame Freppa seated themselves by turns at the
pianoforte; I, too, did my best; Bellini made remarks, and
accompanied himself in one or other of his cantilene, rather
in illustration of what he had been saying than for the
purpose of giving a performance of them. He knew how to sing
better than any German composer whom I have met, and had a
voice less full of sound than of feeling. His pianoforte-
playing sufficed for the reproduction of his orchestra,
which, indeed, is not saying much. But he knew very well what
he wanted, and was far from being a kind of natural poet, as
some may imagine him to have been.

In the summer of 1835, towards the end of July, Chopin journeyed
to Carlsbad, whither his father had been sent by the Warsaw
physicians. The meeting of the parents and their now famous son
after a separation of nearly five years was no doubt a very
joyous one; but as no accounts have come down to us of Chopin's
doings and feelings during his sojourn in the Bohemian watering-
place, I shall make no attempt to fill up the gap by a gushing
description of what may have been, evolved out of the omniscience
of my inner consciousness, although this would be an
insignificant feat compared with those of a recent biographer
whose imaginativeness enabled her to describe the appearance of
the sky and the state of the weather in the night when her hero
became a free citizen of this planet, and to analyse minutely the
characters of private individuals whose lives were passed in
retirement, whom she had never seen, and who had left neither
works nor letters by which they might be judged.

From Carlsbad Chopin went to Dresden. His doings there were of
great importance to him, and are of great interest to us. In
fact, a new love-romance was in progress. But the story had
better be told consecutively, for which reason I postpone my
account of his stay in the Saxon capital till the next chapter.

Frederick Wieck, the father and teacher of Clara, who a few years
later became the wife of Robert Schumann, sent the following
budget of Leipzig news to Nauenburg, a teacher of music in Halle,
in the autumn of 1835:--

The first subscription concert will take place under the
direction of Mendelssohn on October 4, the second on October
4. To-morrow or the day after to-morrow Chopin will arrive
here from Dresden, but will probably not give a concert, for
he is very lazy. He could stay here for some time, if false
friends (especially a dog of a Pole) did not prevent him from
making himself acquainted with the musical side of Leipzig.
But Mendelssohn, who is a good friend of mine and Schumann's,
will oppose this. Chopin does not believe, judging from a
remark he made to a colleague in Dresden, that there is any
lady in Germany who can play his compositions--we will see
what Clara can do.

The Neue Zeitschrift fur Musik, Schumann's paper, of September
29, 1835, contained the following announcement:--

Leipzig will soon be able to show a Kalisz [Footnote: An
allusion to the encampment of Russian and Prussian troops and
friendly meeting of princes which took place there in 1835.]
as regards musical crowned heads. Herr Mendelssohn has
already arrived. Herr Moscheles comes this week; and besides
him there will be Chopin, and later, Pixis and Franzilla.
[Footnote: Franzilla (or Francilla) Pixis, the adopted
daughter of Peter Pixis, whose acquaintance the reader made
in one of the preceding chapters (p. 245).]

The details of the account of Chopin's visit to Leipzig which I
am now going to give, were communicated to me by Ernst Ferdinand
Wenzel, the well-known professor of pianoforte-playing at the
Leipzig Conservatorium, who died in 1880.

In the middle of the year 1835 the words "Chopin is coming" were
passing from mouth to mouth, and caused much stir in the musical
circles of Leipzig. Shortly after this my informant saw
Mendelssohn in the street walking arm in arm with a young man,
and he knew at once that the Polish musician had arrived, for
this young man could be no other than Chopin. From the direction
in which the two friends were going, he guessed whither their
steps were tending. He, therefore, ran as fast as his legs would
carry him to his master Wieck, to tell him that Chopin would be
with him in another moment. The visit had been expected, and a
little party was assembled, every one of which was anxious to see
and hear the distinguished artist. Besides Wieck, his wife,
daughter, and sister-in-law, there were present Robert Schumann
and Wieck's pupils Wenzel, Louis Rakemann, and Ulex. But the
irascible pedagogue, who felt offended because Chopin had not
come first to him, who had made such efforts for the propagation
of his music, would not stay and welcome his visitor, but
withdrew sulkily into the inner apartments. Wieck had scarcely
left the room when Mendelssohn and Chopin entered. The former,
who had some engagement, said, "Here is Chopin!" and then left,
rightly thinking this laconic introduction sufficient. Thus the
three most distinguished composers of their time were at least
for a moment brought together in the narrow space of a room.
[Footnote: This dictum, like all superlatives and sweeping
assertions, will no doubt raise objectors; but, I think, it may
be maintained, and easily maintained with the saving clause
"apart from the stage."] Chopin was in figure not unlike
Mendelssohn, but the former was more lightly built and more
graceful in his movements. He spoke German fluently, although
with a foreign accent. The primary object of Chopin's visit was
to make the acquaintance of Clara Wieck, who had already acquired
a high reputation as a pianist. She played to him among other
things the then new and not yet published Sonata in F sharp minor
(Op. 11) by Schumann, which she had lately been studying. The
gentlemen dared not ask Chopin to play because of the piano, the
touch of which was heavy and which consequently would not suit
him. But the ladies were bolder, and did not cease entreating him
till he sat down and played his Nocturne in E flat (Op. 9, No.
2). After the lapse of forty-two years Wenzel was still in
raptures about the wonderful, fairy-like lightness and delicacy
of Chopin's touch and style. The conversation seems to have
turned on Schubert, one of Schumann's great favourites, for
Chopin, in illustration of something he said, played the
commencement of Schubert's Alexander March. Meanwhile Wieck was
sorely tried by his curiosity when Chopin was playing, and could
not resist the temptation of listening in the adjoining room, and
even peeping through the door that stood slightly ajar. When the
visit came to a close; Schumann conducted Chopin to the house of
his friend Henrietta Voigt, a pupil of Louis Berger's, and
Wenzel, who accompanied them to the door, heard Schumann say to
Chopin: "Let us go in here where we shall find a thorough,
intelligent pianist and a good piano." They then entered the
house, and Chopin played and also stayed for dinner. No sooner
had he left, than the lady, who up to that time had been
exceedingly orthodox in her musical opinions and tastes, sent to
Kistner's music-shop, and got all the compositions by Chopin
which were in stock.

The letter of Mendelssohn which I shall quote presently and an
entry in Henrietta Voigt's diary of the year 1836, which will be
quoted in the next chapter, throw some doubt on the latter part
of Herr Wenzel's reminiscences. Indeed, on being further
questioned on the subject, he modified his original information
to this, that he showed Chopin, unaccompanied by Schumann, the
way to the lady's house, and left him at the door. As to the
general credibility of the above account, I may say that I have
added nothing to my informant's communications, and that in my
intercourse with him I found him to be a man of acute observation
and tenacious memory. What, however, I do not know, is the extent
to which the mythopoeic faculty was developed in him.

[Footnote: Richard Pohl gave incidentally a characterisation of
this exceedingly interesting personality in the Signale of
September, 1886, No. 48. Having been personally acquainted with
Wenzel and many of his friends and pupils, I can vouch for its
truthfulness. He was "one of the best and most amiable men I have
known," writes R. Pohl, "full of enthusiasm for all that is
beautiful, obliging, unselfish, thoroughly kind, and at the same
time so clever, so cultured, and so many-sided as--excuse me,
gentlemen--I have rarely found a pianoforte-teacher. He gave
pianoforte lessons at the Conservatorium and in many private
houses; he worked day after day, year after year, from morning
till night, and with no other outcome as far as he himself was
concerned than that all his pupils--especially his female
pupils--loved him enthusiastically. He was a pupil of Friedrich
Wieck and a friend of Schumann."]

In a letter dated October 6, 1835, and addressed to his family,
Mendelssohn describes another part of Chopin's sojourn in Leipzig
and gives us his opinion of the Polish artist's compositions and
playing:--

The day after I accompanied the Hensels to Delitzsch, Chopin
was here; he intended to remain only one day, so we spent
this entirely together and had a great deal of music. I
cannot deny, dear Fanny, that I have lately found that you do
not do him justice in your judgment [of his talents]; perhaps
he was not in a right humour for playing when you heard him,
which may not unfrequently be the case with him. But his
playing has enchanted me anew, and I am persuaded that if you
and my father had heard some of his better pieces played as
he played them to me, you would say the same. There is
something thoroughly original and at the same time so very
masterly in his piano-forte-playing that he may be called a
really perfect virtuoso; and as every kind of perfection is
welcome and gratifying to me, that day was a most pleasant
one, although so entirely different from the previous ones
spent with you Hensels.

I was glad to be once more with a thorough musician, not with
those half-virtuosos and half-classics who would gladly
combine in music les honneurs de la vertu et les plaisirs du
vice, but with one who has his perfect and well-defined genre
[Richtung]. To whatever extent it may differ from mine, I can
get on with it famously; but not with those half-men. The
Sunday evening was really curious when Chopin made me play
over my oratorio to him, while curious Leipzigers stole into
the room to see him, and how between the first and second
parts he dashed off his new Etudes and a new Concerto, to the
astonishment of the Leipzigers, and I afterwards resumed my
St. Paul, just as if a Cherokee and a Kaffir had met and
conversed. He has such a pretty new notturno, several parts
of which I have retained in my memory for the purpose of
playing it for Paul's amusement. Thus we passed the time
pleasantly together, and he promised seriously to return in
the course of the winter if I would compose a new symphony
and perform it in honour of him. We vowed these things in the
presence of three witnesses, and we shall see whether we both
keep our word. My works of Handel [Footnote: A present from
the Committee of the Cologne Musical Festival of 1835.]
arrived before Chopin's departure, and were a source of quite
childish delight to him; but they are really so beautiful
that I cannot sufficiently rejoice in their possession.

Although Mendelssohn never played any of Chopin's compositions in
public, he made his piano pupils practise some of them.
Karasowski is wrong in saying that Mendelssohn had no such
pupils; he had not many, it is true, but he had a few. A remark
which Mendelssohn once made in his peculiar naive manner is very
characteristic of him and his opinion of Chopin. What he said was
this: "Sometimes one really does not know whether Chopin's music
is right or wrong." On the whole, however, if one of the two had
to complain of the other's judgment, it was not Chopin but
Mendelssohn, as we shall see farther on.

To learn what impression Chopin made on Schumann, we must once
more turn to the Neue Zeitschrift fur Musik, where we find the
Polish artist's visit to Leipzig twice mentioned:--

October 6, 1835. Chopin was here, but only for a few hours,
which he passed in private circles. He played just as he
composes, that is, uniquely.

The second mention is in the P.S. of a transcendental
Schwarmerbrief addressed by Eusebius (the personification of the
gentle, dreamy side of Schumann's character) to Chiara (Clara
Wieck):--

October 20, 1835. Chopin was here. Florestan [the
personification of the strong, passionate side of Schumann's
character] rushed to him. I saw them arm in arm glide rather
than walk. I did not speak with him, was quite startled at
the thought.

On his way to Paris, Chopin stopped also at Heidelberg, where he
visited the father of his pupil Adolph Gutmann, who treated him,
as one of his daughters remarked, not like a prince or even a
king, but like somebody far superior to either. The children were
taught to look up to Chopin as one who had no equal in his line.
And the daughter already referred to wrote more than thirty years
afterwards that Chopin still stood out in her memory as the most
poetical remembrance of her childhood and youth.