Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician

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Chopin himself published forty-one mazurkas of his composition in
eleven sets of four, five, or three numbers--Op. 6, Quatre
Mazurkas, and Op. 7, Cinq Mazurkas, in December, 1832; Op. 17,
Quatre Mazurkas, in May, 1834; Op. 24, Quatre Mazurkas, in
November, 1835; Op. 30, Quatre Maazurkas, in December, 1837; Op.
33, Quatre Mazurkas, in October, 1838; Op. 41, Quatre Mazurkas,
in December, 1840; Op. 50, Trois Mazurkas, in November, 1841; Op,
56, Trois Mazurkas, in August, 1844; Op. 59, Trois Mazurkas, in
April, 1846; and Op. 63, Trois Mazurkas, in September, 1847. In
tne posthumous works published by Fontana there are two more
sets, each of four numbers, and respectively marked as Op. 67 and
68. Lastly, several other mazurkas composed by or attributed to
Chopin have been published without any opus number. Two mazurkas,
both in A minor, although very feeble compositions, are included
in the editions by Klindworth and Mikuli. The Breitkopf and
Hartel edition, which includes only one of these two mazurkas,
comprises further a mazurka in G major and one in B flat major of
1825, one in D major of 1829-30, a remodelling of the same of
1832--these have already been discussed--and a somewhat more
interesting one in C major of 1833. Of one of the two mazurkas in
A minor, a poor thing and for the most part little Chopinesque,
only the dedication (a son ami Rmile Gaillard) is known, but not
the date of composition. The other (the one not included in
Breitkopf and Hartel's, No. 50 of Mikuli's and Klindworth's
edition) appeared first as No. 2 of Noire Temps, a publication by
Schott's Sohne. On inquiry I learned that Notre Temps was the
general title of a series of 12 pieces by Czerny, Chopin,
Kalliwoda, Rosenhain, Thalberg, Kalkbrenner, Mendelssohn,
Bertini, Wolff, Kontski, Osborne, and Herz, which appeared in
1842 or 1843 as a Christmas Album. [FOONOTE: I find, however,
that Chopin's Mazurka was already separately announced as "Notre
Temps, No. 2," in the Monatsberichte of February, 1842.] Whether
a Mazurka elegante by Fr, Chopin, advertised in La France
Musicale of April 6, 1845, as en vente au Bureau de musique, 29,
Place de la Bourse, is identical with one of the above-enumerated
mazurkas I have not been able to discover. In the Klindworth
edition [FOOTNOTE: That is to say, in the original Russian, not
in the English (Augener and Co.'s) edition; and there only by the
desire of the publishers and against the better judgment of the
editor.] is also to be found a very un-Chopinesque Mazurka in F
sharp major, previously published by J. P. Gotthard, in Vienna,
the authorship of which Mr. E. Pauer has shown to belong to
Charles Mayer.

[FOOTNOTE: In an article, entitled Musical Plagiarism in the
Monthly Musical Record of July 1, 1882 (where also the mazurka in
question is reprinted), we read as follows:--"In 1877 Mr. E.
Pauer, whilst preparing a comprehensive guide through the entire
literature of the piano, looked through many thousand pieces for
that instrument published by German firms, and came across a
mazurka by Charles Mayer, published by Pietro Mechetti
(afterwards C. A. Spinal, and entitled Souvenirs de la Pologne. A
few weeks later a mazurka, a posthumous work of F. Chopin,
published by J. Gotthard, came into his hands. At first, although
the piece 'struck him as being an old acquaintance,' he could not
fix the time when and the place where he had heard it; but at
last the Mayer mazurka mentioned above returned to his
remembrance, and on comparing the two, he found that they were
one and the same piece. From the appearance of the title-page and
the size of the notes, Mr. Pauer, who has had considerable
experience in these matters, concluded that the Mayer copy must
have been published between the years 1840 and 1845, and wrote to
Mr. Gotthard pointing out the similarity of Chopin's posthumous
work, and asking how he came into possession of the Chopin
manuscript. Mr. Gotthard replied,'that he had bought the mazurka
as Chopin's autograph from a Polish countess, who, being in sad
distress, parted, though with the greatest sorrow, with the
composition of her illustrious compatriot.' Mr. Pauer naturally
concludes that Mr. Gotthard had been deceived, that the
manuscript was not a genuine autograph, and 'that the honour of
having composed the mazurka in question belongs to Charles
Mayer.' Mr. Pauer further adds: 'It is not likely that C. Mayer,
even if Chopin had made him a present of this mazurka, would have
published it during Chopin's lifetime as a work of his own, or
have sold or given it to the Polish countess. It is much more
likely that Mayer's mazurka was copied in the style of Chopin's
handwriting, and after Mayer's death in 1862 sold as Chopin's
autograph to Mr. Gotthard.'"]

Surveying the mazurkas in their totality, we cannot but notice
that there is a marked difference between those up to and those
above Op. 41. In the later ones we look in vain for the beautes
sauvages which charm us in the earlier ones--they strike us
rather by their propriety of manner and scholarly elaboration; in
short, they have more of reflective composition and less of
spontaneous effusion about them. This, however, must not be taken
too literally. There are exceptions, partial and total. The
"native wood-notes wild" make themselves often heard, only they
are almost as often stifled in the close air of the study.
Strange to say, the last opus (63) of mazurkas published by
Chopin has again something of the early freshness and poetry.
Schumann spoke truly when he said that some poetical trait,
something new, was to be found in every one of Chopin's mazurkas.
They are indeed teeming with interesting matter. Looked at from
the musician's point of view, how much do we not see that is
novel and strange, and beautiful and fascinating withal? Sharp
dissonances, chromatic passing notes, suspensions and
anticipations, displacements of accent, progressions of perfect
fifths (the horror of schoolmen), [FOOTNOTE: See especially the
passage near the close of Op. 30, No. 4, where there are four
bars of simultaneous consecutive fifths and sevenths.] sudden
turns and unexpected digressions that are so unaccountable, so
out of the line of logical sequence, that one's following the
composer is beset with difficulties, marked rhythm picture to us
the graceful motions of the dancers, and suggest the clashing of
the spurs and the striking of heels against the ground. The
second mazurka might be called "the request." All the arts of
persuasion are tried, from the pathetic to the playful, and a
vein of longing, not unmixed with sadness, runs through the
whole, or rather forms the basis of it. The tender commencement
of the second part is followed, as it were, by the several times
repeated questions--Yes? No? (Bright sunshine? Dark clouds?) But
there comes no answer, and the poor wretch has to begin anew. A
helpless, questioning uncertainty and indecision characterise the
third mazurka. For a while the composer gives way (at the
beginning of the second part) to anger, and speaks in a defiant
tone; but, as if perceiving the unprofitableness of it, returns
soon to his first strain. Syncopations, suspensions, and
chromatic passing notes form here the composer's chief stock in
trade, displacement of everything in melody, harmony, and rhythm
is the rule. Nobody did anything like this before Chopin, and, as
far as I know, nobody has given to the world an equally minute
and distinct representation of the same intimate emotional
experiences. My last remarks hold good with the fourth mazurka,
which is bleak and joyless till, with the entrance of A major, a
fairer prospect opens. But those jarring tones that strike in
wake the dreamer pitilessly. The commencement of the mazurka, as
well as the close on the chord of the sixth, the chromatic
glidings of the harmonies, the strange twirls and skips, give a
weird character to this piece.

The origin of the polonaise (Taniec Polski, Polish dance), like
that of the, no doubt, older mazurka, is lost in the dim past.
For much credit can hardly be given to the popular belief that it
developed out of the measured procession, to the sound of music,
of the nobles and their ladies, which is said to have first taken
place in 1574, the year after his election to the Polish throne,
when Henry of Anjou received the grandees of his realm. The
ancient polonaises were without words, and thus they were still
in the time of King Sobieski (1674-96). Under the subsequent
kings of the house of Saxony, however, they were often adapted to
words or words were adapted to them. Celebrated polonaises of
political significance are: the Polonaise of the 3rd of May,
adapted to words relative to the promulgation of the famous
constitution of the 3rd of May, 1791; the Kosciuszko Polonaise,
with words adapted to already existing music, dedicated to the
great patriot and general when, in 1792, the nation rose in
defence of the constitution; the Oginski Polonaise, also called
the Swan's song and the Partition of Poland, a composition
without words, of the year 1793 (at the time of the second
partition), by Prince Michael Cleophas Oginski. Among the Polish
composers of the second half of the last century and the
beginning of the present whose polonaises enjoyed in their day,
and partly enjoy still, a high reputation, are especially notable
Kozlowski, Kamienski, Elsner, Deszczynski, Bracicki, Wanski,
Prince Oginski, Kurpinski, and Dobrzynski. Outside Poland the
polonaise, both as an instrumental and vocal composition, both as
an independent piece and part of larger works, had during the
same period quite an extraordinary popularity. Whether we examine
the productions of the classics or those of the inferior
virtuosic and drawing-room composers, [FOOTNOTE: I should have
added "operatic composers."] everywhere we find specimens of the
polonaise. Pre-eminence among the most successful foreign
cultivators of this Polish dance has, however, been accorded to
Spohr and Weber. I said just now "this dance," but, strictly
speaking, the polonaise, which has been called a marche dansante,
is not so much a dance as a figured walk, or procession, full of
gravity and a certain courtly etiquette. As to the music of the
polonaise, it is in 3/4 time, and of a moderate movement (rather
slow than quick). The flowing and more or less florid melody has
rhythmically a tendency to lean on the second crotchet and even
on the second quaver of the bar (see illustration No. 1, a and
b), and generally concludes each of its parts with one of certain
stereotyped formulas of a similar rhythmical cast (see
illustration No. 2, a, b, c, and d). The usual accompaniment
consists of a bass note at the beginning of the bar followed,
except at the cadences, by five quavers, of which the first may
be divided into semiquavers. Chopin, however, emancipated himself
more and more from these conventionalities in his later poetic
polonaises.

[Two music score excerpts here, labeled No. 1 and No. 2]

The polonaise [writes Brodzinski] is the only dance which
suits mature age, and is not unbecoming to persons of elevated
rank; it is the dance of kings, heroes, and even old men; it
alone suits the martial dress. It does not breathe any
passion, but seems to be only a triumphal march, an expression
of chivalrous and polite manners. A solemn gravity presides
always at the polonaise, which, perhaps, alone recalls neither
the fire of primitive manners nor the gallantry of more
civilised but more enervated ages. Besides these principal
characteristics, the polonaise bears a singularly national and
historical impress; for its laws recall an aristocratic
republic with a disposition to anarchy, flowing less from the
character of the people than from its particular legislation.
In the olden times the polonaise was a kind of solemn
ceremony. The king, holding by the hand the most distinguished
personage of the assembly, marched at the head of a numerous
train of couples composed of men alone: this dance, made more
effective by the splendour of the chivalrous costumes, was
only, strictly speaking, a triumphal march.

If a lady was the object of the festival, it was her privilege
to open the march, holding by the hand another lady. All the
others followed until the queen of the ball, having offered
her hand to one of the men standing round the room, induced
the other ladies to follow her example.

The ordinary polonaise is opened by the most distinguished
person of the gathering, whose privilege it is to conduct the
whole file of the dancers or to break it up. This is called in
Polish rey wodzic, figuratively, to be the leader, in some
sort the king (from the Latin rex). To dance at the head was
also called to be the marshal, on account of the privileges of
a marshal at the Diets. The whole of this form is connected
with the memories and customs of raising the militia
(pospolite), or rather of the gathering of the national
assemblies in Poland. Hence, notwithstanding the deference
paid to the leaders, who have the privilege of conducting at
will the chain of dancers, it is allowable, by a singular
practice made into a law, to dethrone a leader every time any
bold person calls out odbiianego, which means retaken by force
or reconquered; he who pronounces this word is supposed to
wish to reconquer the hand of the first lady and the direction
of the dance; it is a kind of act of liberum veto, to which
everyone is obliged to give way. The leader then abandons the
hand of his lady to the new pretender; every cavalier dances
with the lady of the following couple, and it is only the
cavalier of the last couple who finds himself definitively
ousted if he has not the boldness to insist likewise upon his
privilege of equality by demanding odbiianego, and placing
himself at the head.

But as a privilege of this nature too often employed would
throw the whole ball into complete anarchy, two means are
established to obviate this abuse--namely, the leader makes
use of his right to terminate the polonaise, in imitation of a
king or marshal dissolving a Diet, or else, according to the
predominating wish, all the cavaliers leave the ladies alone
in the middle, who then choose new partners and continue the
dance, excluding the disturbers and discontented, which
recalls the confederations employed for the purpose of making
the will of the majority prevail.

The polonaise breathes and paints the whole national
character; the music of this dance, while admitting much art,
combines something martial with a sweetness marked by the
simplicity of manners of an agricultural people. Foreigners
have distorted this character of the polonaises; the natives
themselves preserve it less in our day in consequence of the
frequent employment of motives drawn from modern operas. As to
the dance itself, the polonaise has become in our day a kind
of promenade which has little charm for the young, and is but
a scene of etiquette for those of a riper age. Our fathers
danced it with a marvellous ability and a gravity full of
nobleness; the dancer, making gliding steps with energy, but
without skips, and caressing his moustache, varied his
movements by the position of his sabre, of his cap, and of
his tucked-up coat-sleeves, distinctive signs of a free man
and warlike citizen. Whoever has seen a Pole of the old school
dance the polonaise in the national costume will confess
without hesitation that this dance is the triumph of a well-
made man, with a noble and proud tournure, and with an air at
once manly and gay.

After this Brodzinski goes on to describe the way in which the
polonaise used to be danced. But instead of his description I
shall quote a not less true and more picturesque one from the
last canto of Mickiewicz's "Pan Tadeusz":--

It is time to dance the polonaise. The President comes
forward; he lightly throws back the fausses manches of his
overcoat, caresses his moustache, presents his hand to Sophia:
and, by a respectful salute, invites her for the first couple.
Behind them range themselves the other dancers, two and two;
the signal is given, the dance is begun, the President directs
it.

His red boots move over the green sward, his belt sends forth
flashes of light; he proceeds slowly, as if at random: but in
every one of his steps, in every one of his movements, one can
read the feelings and the thoughts of the dancer. He stops as
if to question his partner; he leans towards her, wishes to
speak to her in an undertone. The lady turns away, does not
listen, blushes. He takes off his cap, and salutes her
respectfully. The lady is not disinclined to look at him, but
persists in being silent. He slackens his pace, seeks to read
in her eyes, and smiles. Happy in her mute answer, he walks
more quickly, looking proudly at his rivals; now he draws his
cap with the heron-feathers forward, now he pushes it back. At
last he puts it on one side and turns up his moustaches. He
withdraws; all envy him, all follow his footsteps. He would
like to disappear with his lady. Sometimes he stops, raises
politely his hand, and begs the dancers to pass by him.
Sometimes he tries to slip dexterously away, changing the
direction. He would like to deceive his companions; but the
troublesome individuals follow him with a nimble step, entwine
him with more and more tightened loops. He becomes angry; lays
his right hand on his sword as if he wished to say: "Woe to
the jealous!" He turns, pride on his countenance, a challenge
in his air, and marches straight on the company, who give way
at his approach, open to him a passage, and soon, by a rapid
evolution, are off again in pursuit of him.

On all sides one hears the exclamation: "Ah! this is perhaps
the last. Look, young people, perhaps this is the last who
will know how to conduct thus the polonaise!"

Among those of Chopin's compositions which he himself published
are, exclusive of the "Introduction et Polonaise brillante" for
piano and violoncello, Op. 3, eight polonaises--namely: "Grande
Polonaise brillante" (in E flat major), "precedee d'un Andante
spianato" (in G major), "pour le piano avec orchestre," Op. 22;
"Deux Polonaises" (in C sharp minor and E flat minor), Op. 26;
"Deux Polonaises" (in A major and C minor), Op. 40; "Polonaise"
(F sharp minor), Op. 44; "Polonaise" (in A flat major), Op. 53;
[FOOTNOTE: This polonaise is called the "eighth" on the title-
page, which, of course, it is only by including the "Polonaise,"
Op. 3, for piano and violoncello.] and "Polonaise-Fantaisie" (in
A flat major), Op. 61. The three early polonaises posthumously-
published by Fontana as Op. 71 have already been discussed in
Chapter VIII. Other posthumously-published polonaises--such as
the Polonaise in G sharp minor, to be found in Mikuli's edition,
and one in B flat minor of the year 1826, first published in the
supplement of the journal "Echo Muzyczne"--need not be considered
by us. [FOOTNOTE: Both polonaises are included in the Breitkopf
and Hartel edition, where the one in G sharp minor bears the
unlikely date 1822. The internal evidence speaks against this
statement.]

Chopin's Polonaises Op. 26, 40, 53, and 61 are pre-eminently
political, they are the composer's expression of his patriotic
feelings. It is not difficult to recognise in them proud memories
of past splendours, sad broodings over present humiliations,
bright visions of a future resurrection. They are full of martial
chivalry, of wailing dejection, of conspiracy and sedition, of
glorious victories. The poetically-inferior Polonaise, Op. 22, on
the other hand, while unquestionably Polish in spirit, is not
political. Chopin played this work, which was probably composed,
or at least sketched, in 1830, [FOOTNOTE: See Vol. I., Chapter
xiii., pp. 201, 202.] and certainly published in July, 1836, for
the first time in public at a Paris Conservatoire concert for the
benefit of Habeneck on April 26, 1835; and this was the only
occasion on which he played it with orchestral accompaniments.
The introductory Andante (in G major, and 6/8 time), as the
accompanying adjective indicates, is smooth and even. It makes
one think of a lake on a calm, bright summer day. A boat glides
over the pellucid, unruffled surface of the water, by-and-by
halts at a shady spot by the shore, or by the side of some island
(3/4 time), then continues its course (f time), and finally
returns to its moorings (3/4). I can perceive no connection
between the Andante and the following Polonaise (in E flat major)
except the factitious one of a formal and forced transition, with
which the orchestra enters on the scene of action (Allegro molto,
3/4). After sixteen bars of tutti, the pianoforte commences,
unaccompanied, the polonaise. Barring the short and in no way
attractive and remarkable test's, the orchestra plays a very
subordinate and often silent role, being, indeed, hardly missed
when the pianoforte part is. played alone. The pronounced bravura
character of the piece would warrant the supposition that it was
written expressly for the concert-room, even if the orchestral
accompaniments were not there to prove the fact. A proud bearing,
healthful vigour, and sprightly vivacity distinguish Chopin on
this occasion. But notwithstanding the brave appearance, one
misses his best qualities. This polonaise illustrates not only
the most brilliant, but also the least lovable features of the
Polish character--ostentatiousness and exaggerated rhetoric. In
it Chopin is discovered posturing, dealing in phrases, and
coquetting with sentimental affectations. In short, the composer
comes before us as a man of the world, intent on pleasing, and
sure of himself and success. The general airiness of the style is
a particularly-noticeable feature of this piece of Chopin's
virtuosic period.

The first bars of the first (in C sharp minor) of the two
Polonaises, Op. 26 (published in July, 1836), fall upon one's ear
like a decision of irresistible, inexorable fate. Indignation
flares up for a moment, and then dies away, leaving behind
sufficient strength only for a dull stupor (beginning of the
second part), deprecation, melting tenderness (the E major in the
second part, and the closing bars of the first and second parts),
and declarations of devotion (meno mosso). While the first
polonaise expresses weak timidity, sweet plaintiveness, and a
looking for help from above, the second one (in E flat minor)
speaks of physical force and self-reliance--it is full of
conspiracy and sedition. The ill-suppressed murmurs of
discontent, which may be compared to the ominous growls of a
volcano, grow in loudness and intensity, till at last, with a
rush and a wild shriek, there follows an explosion. The thoughts
flutter hither and thither, in anxious, helpless agitation. Then
martial sounds are heard--a secret gathering of a few, which soon
grows in number and in boldness. Now they draw nearer; you
distinguish the clatter of spurs and weapons, the clang of
trumpets (D flat major). Revenge and death are their watchwords,
and with sullen determination they stare desolation in the face
(the pedal F with the trebled part above). After an interesting
transition the first section returns. In the meno mosso (B major)
again a martial rhythm is heard; this time, however, the
gathering is not one for revenge and death, but for battle and
victory. From the far-off distance the winds carry the message
that tells of freedom and glory. But what is this (the four bars
before the tempo I.)? Alas! the awakening from a dream. Once more
we hear those sombre sounds, the shriek and explosion, and so on.
Of the two Polonaises, Op. 26, the second is the grander, and the
definiteness which distinguishes it from the vague first shows
itself also in the form.

A greater contrast than the two Polonaises, Op. 40 (published in
November, 1840), can hardly be imagined. In the first (in A
major) the mind of the composer is fixed on one elating thought--
he sees the gallantly-advancing chivalry of Poland, determination
in every look and gesture; he hears rising above the noise of
stamping horses and the clash of arms their bold challenge
scornfully hurled at the enemy. In the second (in C minor), on
the other hand, the mind of the composer turns from one
depressing or exasperating thought to another--he seems to review
the different aspects of his country's unhappy state, its sullen
discontent, fretful agitation, and uncertain hopes. The manly
Polonaise in A major, one of the simplest (not easiest)
compositions of Chopin, is the most popular of his polonaises.
The second polonaise, however, although not so often heard, is
the more interesting one, the emotional contents being more
varied, and engaging more our sympathy. Further, the pianoforte,
however fully and effectively employed, cannot do justice to the
martial music of the one, while its capacities are well suited
for the rendering of the less material effect of the other. In
conclusion, let me point out in the C minor Polonaise the chafing
agitation of the second part, the fitful play between light and
shade of the trio-like part in A flat major, and the added
wailing voice in the recurring first portion at the end of the
piece. [FOOTNOTE: In connection with the A major Polonaise, see
last paragraph on next page.]