CHOPIN IS JOINED AT KALISZ BY TITUS WOYCIECHOWSKI.--FOUR DAYS AT
BRESLAU: HIS VISITS TO THE THEATRE; CAPELLMEISTER SCHNABEL; PLAYS AT
A CONCERT; ADOLF HESSE.--SECOND VISIT TO DRESDEN: MUSIC AT THEATRE
AND CHURCH; GERMAN AND POLISH SOCIETY; MORLACCHI, SIGNORA PALAZZESI,
RASTRELLI, ROLLA, DOTZAUER, KUMMER, KLENGEL, AND OTHER MUSICIANS; A
CONCERT TALKED ABOUT BUT NOT GIVEN; SIGHT-SEEING.--AFTER A WEEK, BY
PRAGUE TO VIENNA.--ARRIVES AT VIENNA TOWARDS THE END OF NOVEMBER, 1830.
Thanks to Chopin's extant letters to his family and friends it is not
difficult to give, with the help of some knowledge of the contemporary
artists and of the state of music in the towns he visited, a pretty
clear account of his experiences and mode of life during the nine or ten
months which intervene between his departure from Warsaw and his arrival
in Paris. Without the letters this would have been impossible, and for
two reasons: one of them is that, although already a notable man, Chopin
was not yet a noted man; and the other, that those with whom he then
associated have, like himself, passed away from among us.
Chopin, who, as the reader will remember, left Warsaw on November
1, 1830, was joined at Kalisz by Titus Woyciechowski. Thence the two
friends travelled together to Vienna. They made their first halt at
Breslau, which they reached on November 6. No sooner had Chopin put
up at the hotel Zur goldenen Gans, changed his dress, and taken some
refreshments, than he rushed off to the theatre. During his stay in
Breslau he was present at three performances--at Raimund's fantastical
comedy "Der Alpenkonig und der Menschenfeind", Auber's "Maurer und
Schlosser (Le Macon)," and Winter's "Das unterbrochene Opferfest", a now
superannuated but then still popular opera. The players succeeded better
than the singers in gaining the approval of their fastidious auditor,
which indeed might have been expected. As both Chopin and Woyciechowski
were provided with letters of introduction, and the gentlemen to whom
they were addressed did all in their power to make their visitors'
sojourn as pleasant as possible, the friends spent in Breslau four happy
days. It is characteristic of the German musical life in those days that
in the Ressource, a society of that town, they had three weekly
concerts at which the greater number of the performers were amateurs.
Capellmeister Schnabel, an old acquaintance of Chopin's, had invited the
latter to come to a morning rehearsal. When Chopin entered, an amateur,
a young barrister, was going to rehearse Moscheles' E flat major
Concerto. Schnabel, on seeing the newcomer, asked him to try the
piano. Chopin sat down and played some variations which astonished and
delighted the Capellmeister, who had not heard him for four years, so
much that he overwhelmed him with expressions of admiration. As the poor
amateur began to feel nervous, Chopin was pressed on all sides to take
that gentleman's place in the evening. Although he had not practised
for some weeks he consented, drove to the hotel, fetched the requisite
music, rehearsed, and in the evening performed the Romanza and Rondo of
his E minor Concerto and an improvisation on a theme from Auber's "La
Muette" ("Masaniello"). At the rehearsal the "Germans" admired his
playing; some of them he heard whispering "What a light touch he has!"
but not a word was said about the composition. The amateurs did not know
whether it was good or bad. Titus Woyciechowski heard one of them say
"No doubt he can play, but he can't compose." There was, however, one
gentleman who praised the novelty of the form, and the composer naively
declares that this was the person who understood him best. Speaking of
the professional musicians, Chopin remarks that, with the exception of
Schnabel, "the Germans" were at a loss what to think of him. The Polish
peasants use the word "German" as an invective, believe that the devil
speaks German and dresses in the German fashion, and refuse to take
medicine because they hold it to be an invention of the Germans and,
consequently, unfit for Christians. Although Chopin does not go so
far, he is by no means free from this national antipathy. Let his
susceptibility be ruffled by Germans, and you may be sure he will
remember their nationality. Besides old Schnabel there was among the
persons whose acquaintance Chopin made at Breslau only one other who
interests us, and interests us more than that respectable composer
of church music; and this one was the organist and composer Adolph
Frederick Hesse, then a young man of Chopin's age. Before long the
latter became better acquainted with him. In his account of his stay and
playing in the Silesian capital, he says of him only that "the second
local connoisseur, Hesse, who has travelled through the whole of
Germany, paid me also compliments."
Chopin continued his journey on November 10, and on November 12 had
already plunged into Dresden life. Two features of this, in some
respects quite unique, life cannot but have been particularly attractive
to our traveller--namely, its Polish colony and the Italian opera. The
former owed its origin to the connection of the house of Saxony with
the crown of Poland; and the latter, which had been patronised by the
Electors and Kings for hundreds of years, was not disbanded till 1832.
In 1817, it is true, Weber, who had received a call for that purpose,
founded a German opera at Dresden, but the Italian opera retained the
favour of the Court and of a great part of the public, in fact, was the
spoiled child that looked down upon her younger sister, poor Cinderella.
Even a Weber had to fight hard to keep his own, indeed, sometimes
failed to do so, in the rivalry with the ornatissimo Signore Cavaliere
Morlacchi, primo maestro della capella Reale.
Chopin's first visit was to Miss Pechwell, through whom he got admission
to a soiree at the house of Dr. Kreyssig, where she was going to play
and the prima donna of the Italian opera to sing. Having carefully
dressed, Chopin made his way to Dr. Kreyssig's in a sedan-chair. Being
unaccustomed to this kind of conveyance he had a desire to kick out
the bottom of the "curious but comfortable box," a temptation which he,
however--to his honour be it recorded--resisted. On entering the salon
he found there a great number of ladies sitting round eight large
tables:--
No sparkling of diamonds met my eye, but the more modest
glitter of a host of steel knitting-needles, which moved
ceaselessly in the busy hands of these ladies. The number of
ladies and knitting-needles was so large that if the ladies
had planned an attack upon the gentlemen that were present,
the latter would have been in a sorry plight. Nothing would
have been left to them but to make use of their spectacles as
weapons, for there was as little lack of eye-glasses as of
bald heads.
The clicking of knitting-needles and the rattling of teacups were
suddenly interrupted by the overture to the opera "Fra Diavolo," which
was being played in an adjoining room. After the overture Signora
Palazzesi sang "with a bell-like, magnificent voice, and great bravura."
Chopin asked to be introduced to her. He made likewise the acquaintance
of the old composer and conductor Vincent Rastrelli, who introduced him
to a brother of the celebrated tenor Rubini.
At the Roman Catholic church, the Court Church, Chopin met Morlacchi,
and heard a mass by that excellent artist. The Neapolitan sopranists
Sassaroli and Tarquinio sang, and the "incomparable Rolla" played the
solo violin. On another occasion he heard a clever but dry mass by Baron
von Miltitz, which was performed under the direction of Morlacchi, and
in which the celebrated violoncello virtuosos Dotzauer and Kummer
played their solos beautifully, and the voices of Sassaroli, Muschetti,
Babnigg, and Zezi were heard to advantage. The theatre was, as usual,
assiduously frequented by Chopin. After the above-mentioned soiree
he hastened to hear at least the last act of "Die Stumme von Portici"
("Masaniello"). Of the performance of Rossini's "Tancredi," which he
witnessed on another evening, he praised only the wonderful violin
playing of Rolla and the singing of Mdlle. Hahnel, a lady from the
Vienna Court Theatre. Rossini's "La Donna del lago," in Italian,
is mentioned among the operas about to be performed. What a strange
anomaly, that in the year 1830 a state of matters such as is indicated
by these names and facts could still obtain in Dresden, one of the
capitals of musical Germany! It is emphatically a curiosity of history.
Chopin, who came to Rolla with a letter of introduction from Soliva,
was received by the Italian violinist with great friendliness. Indeed,
kindness was showered upon him from all sides. Rubini promised him
a letter of introduction to his brother in Milan, Rolla one to the
director of the opera there, and Princess Augusta, the daughter of the
late king, and Princess Maximiliana, the sister-in-law of the reigning
king, provided him with letters for the Queen of Naples, the Duchess of
Lucca, the Vice-Queen of Milan, and Princess Ulasino in Rome. He had
met the princesses and played to them at the house of the Countess
Dobrzycka, Oberhofmeisterin of the Princess Augusta, daughter of the
late king, Frederick Augustus.
The name of the Oberhofmeisterin brings us to the Polish society of
Dresden, into which Chopin seems to have found his way at once. Already
two days after his arrival he writes of a party of Poles with whom he
had dined. At the house of Mdme. Pruszak he made the acquaintance of no
less a person than General Kniaziewicz, who took part in the defence of
Warsaw, commanded the left wing in the battle of Maciejowice (1794),
and joined Napoleon's Polish legion in 1796. Chopin wrote home: "I have
pleased him very much; he said that no pianist had made so agreeable an
impression on him."
To judge from the tone of Chopin's letters, none of all the people he
came in contact with gained his affection in so high a degree as did
Klengel, whom he calls "my dear Klengel," and of whom he says that he
esteems him very highly, and loves him as if he had known him from his
earliest youth. "I like to converse with him, for from him something is
to be learned." The great contrapuntist seems to have reciprocated this
affection, at any rate he took a great interest in his young friend,
wished to see the scores of his concertos, went without Chopin's
knowledge to Morlacchi and to the intendant of the theatre to try if
a concert could not be arranged within four days, told him that his
playing reminded him of Field's, that his touch was of a peculiar kind,
and that he had not expected to find him such a virtuoso. Although
Chopin replied, when Klengel advised him to give a concert, that his
stay in Dresden was too short to admit of his doing so, and thought
himself that he could earn there neither much fame nor much money, he
nevertheless was not a little pleased that this excellent artist had
taken some trouble in attempting to smooth the way for a concert, and to
hear from him that this had been done not for Chopin's but for Dresden's
sake; our friend, be it noted, was by no means callous to flattery.
Klengel took him also to a soiree at the house of Madame Niesiolawska,
a Polish lady, and at supper proposed his health, which was drunk in
champagne.
There is a passage in one of Chopin's letters which I must quote; it
tells us something of his artistic taste outside his own art:--
The Green Vault I saw last time I was here, and once is
enough for me; but I revisited with great interest the
picture gallery. If I lived here I would go to it every week,
for there are pictures in it at the sight of which I imagine
I hear music.
Thus our friend spent a week right pleasantly and not altogether
unprofitably in the Saxon Athens, and spent it so busily that what with
visits, dinners, soirees, operas, and other amusements, he leaving his
hotel early in the morning and returning late at night, it passed away
he did not know how.
Chopin, who made also a short stay in Prague--of which visit, however,
we have no account--arrived in Vienna in the latter part of November,
1830. His intention was to give some concerts, and to proceed in a month
or two to Italy. How the execution of this plan was prevented by various
circumstances we shall see presently. Chopin flattered himself with the
belief that managers, publishers, artists, and the public in general
were impatiently awaiting his coming, and ready to receive him with
open arms. This, however, was an illusion. He overrated his success.
His playing at the two "Academies" in the dead season must have remained
unnoticed by many, and was probably forgotten by not a few who did
notice it. To talk, therefore, about forging the iron while it was hot
proved a misconception of the actual state of matters. It is true his
playing and compositions had made a certain impression, especially upon
some of the musicians who had heard him. But artists, even when
free from hostile jealousy, are far too much occupied with their own
interests to be helpful in pushing on their younger brethren. As to
publishers and managers, they care only for marketable articles, and
until an article has got a reputation its marketable value is very
small. Nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand judge by names and
not by intrinsic worth. Suppose a hitherto unknown statue of Phidias,
a painting of Raphael, a symphony of Beethoven, were discovered and
introduced to the public as the works of unknown living artists, do
you think they would receive the same universal admiration as the known
works of the immortal masters? Not at all! By a very large majority of
the connoisseurs and pretended connoisseurs they would be criticised,
depreciated, or ignored. Let, however, the real names of the authors
become known, and the whole world will forthwith be thrown into ecstasy,
and see in them even more beauties than they really possess. Well, the
first business of an artist, then, is to make himself a reputation, and
a reputation is not made by one or two successes. A first success, be it
ever so great, and achieved under ever so favourable circumstances, is
at best but the thin end of the wedge which has been got in, but which
has to be driven home with much vigour and perseverance before the work
is done. "Art is a fight, not a pleasure-trip," said the French
painter Millet, one who had learnt the lesson in the severe school of
experience. Unfortunately for Chopin, he had neither the stuff nor
the stomach for fighting. He shrank back at the slightest touch like a
sensitive plant. He could only thrive in the sunshine of prosperity and
protected against all those inimical influences and obstacles that cause
hardier natures to put forth their strength, and indeed are necessary
for the full unfolding of all their capabilities. Chopin and Titus
Woyciechowski put up at the hotel Stadt London, but, finding the charges
too high, they decamped and stayed at the hotel Goldenes Lamm till the
lodgings which they had taken were evacuated by the English admiral then
in possession of them. From Chopin's first letter after his arrival in
the Austrian capital his parents had the satisfaction of learning that
their son was in excellent spirits, and that his appetite left nothing
to be desired, especially when sharpened by good news from home. In his
perambulations he took particular note of the charming Viennese girls,
and at the Wilde Mann, where he was in the habit of dining, he enjoyed
immensely a dish of Strudeln. The only drawback to the blissfulness of
his then existence was a swollen nose, caused by the change of air, a
circumstance which interfered somewhat with his visiting operations. He
was generally well received by those on whom he called with letters
of introduction. In one of the two exceptional cases he let it be
understood that, having a letter of introduction from the Grand Duke
Constantine to the Russian Ambassador, he was not so insignificant a
person as to require the patronage of a banker; and in the other case
he comforted himself with the thought that a time would come when things
would be changed.
In the letter above alluded to (December 1, 1830) Chopin speaks of one
of the projected concerts as if it were to take place shortly; that is
to say, he is confident that, such being his pleasure, this will be
the natural course of events. His Warsaw acquaintance Orlowski, the
perpetrator of mazurkas on his concerto themes, was accompanying
the violinist Lafont on a concert-tour. Chopin does not envy him the
honour:--
Will the time come [he writes] when Lafont will accompany me?
Does this question sound arrogant? But, God willing, this may
come to pass some day.
Wurfel has conversations with him about the arrangements for a
concert, and Graff, the pianoforte-maker, advises him to give it in
the Landstandische Saal, the finest and most convenient hall in Vienna.
Chopin even asks his people which of his Concertos he should play, the
one in F or the one in E minor. But disappointments were not long in
coming. One of his first visits was to Haslinger, the publisher of the
Variations on "La ci darem la mano," to whom he had sent also a sonata
and another set of variations. Haslinger received him very kindly, but
would print neither the one nor the other work. No wonder the composer
thought the cunning publisher wished to induce him in a polite and
artful way to let him have his compositions gratis. For had not Wurfel
told him that his Concerto in F minor was better than Hummel's in A
flat, which Haslinger had just published, and had not Klengel at
Dresden been surprised to hear that he had received no payment for the
Variations? But Chopin will make Haslinger repent of it. "Perhaps he
thinks that if he treats my compositions somewhat en bagatelle, I shall
be glad if only he prints them; but henceforth nothing will be got from
me gratis; my motto will be 'Pay, animal!'" But evidently the animal
wouldn't pay, and in fact did not print the compositions till after
Chopin's death. So, unless the firm of Haslinger mentioned that he will
call on him as soon as he has a room wherein he can receive a visit in
return, the name of Lachner does not reappear in the correspondence.
In the management of the Karnthnerthor Theatre, Louis Duport had
succeeded, on September 1, 1830, Count Gallenberg, whom severe losses
obliged to relinquish a ten years' contract after the lapse of less than
two years. Chopin was introduced to the new manager by Hummel.
He (Duport) [writes Chopin on December 21 to his parents] was
formerly a celebrated dancer, and is said to be very
niggardly; however, he received me in an extremely polite
manner, for perhaps he thinks I shall play for him gratis. He
is mistaken there! We entered into a kind of negotiation, but
nothing definite was settled. If Mr. Duport offers me too
little, I shall give my concert in the large Redoutensaal.
But the niggardly manager offered him nothing at all, and Chopin did not
give a concert either in the Redoutensaal or elsewhere, at least not for
a long time. Chopin's last-quoted remark is difficult to reconcile with
what he tells his friend Matuszyriski four days later: "I have no longer
any thought of giving a concert." In a letter to Elsner, dated January
26, 1831, he writes:--
I meet now with obstacles on all sides. Not only does a
series of the most miserable pianoforte concerts totally ruin
all true music and make the public suspicious, but the
occurrences in Poland have also acted unfavourably upon my
position. Nevertheless, I intend to have during the carnival
a performance of my first Concerto, which has met with
Wurfel's full approval.
It would, however, be a great mistake to ascribe the failure of Chopin's
projects solely to the adverse circumstances pointed out by him.
The chief causes lay in himself. They were his want of energy and of
decision, constitutional defects which were of course intensified by the
disappointment of finding indifference and obstruction where he expected
enthusiasm and furtherance, and by the outbreak of the revolution in
Poland (November 30, 1830), which made him tremble for the safety of his
beloved ones and the future of his country. In the letter from which I
have last quoted Chopin, after remarking that he had postponed writing
till he should be able to report some definite arrangement, proceeds to
say:--
But from the day that I heard of the dreadful occurrences in
our fatherland, my thoughts have been occupied only with
anxiety and longing for it and my dear ones. Malfatti gives
himself useless trouble in trying to convince me that the
artist is, or ought to be, a cosmopolitan. And, supposing
this were really the case, as an artist I am still in the
cradle, but as a Pole already a man. I hope, therefore, that
you will not be offended with me for not yet having seriously
thought of making arrangements for a concert.
What affected Chopin most and made him feel lonely was the departure
of his friend Woyciechowski, who on the first news of the insurrection
returned to Poland and joined the insurgents. Chopin wished to do the
same, but his parents advised him to stay where he was, telling him
that he was not strong enough to bear the fatigues and hardships of
a soldier's life. Nevertheless, when Woyciechowski was gone an
irresistible home-sickness seized him, and, taking post-horses, he tried
to overtake his friend and go with him. But after following him for
some stages without making up to him, his resolution broke down, and he
returned to Vienna. Chopin's characteristic irresolution shows itself
again at this time very strikingly, indeed, his letters are full of
expressions indicating and even confessing it. On December 21, 1830, he
writes to his parents:--
I do not know whether I ought to go soon to Italy or wait a
little longer? Please, dearest papa, let me know your and the
best mother's will in this matter.
And four days afterwards he writes to Matuszynski:--
You know, of course, that 1 have letters from the Royal Court
of Saxony to the Vice-Queen in Milan, but what shall I do? My
parents leave me to choose; I wish they would give me
instructions. Shall I go to Paris? My acquaintances here
advise me to wait a little longer. Shall I return home? Shall
I stay here? Shall I kill myself? Shall I not write to you
any more?
Chopin's dearest wish was to be at home again. "How I should like to be
in Warsaw!" he writes. But the fulfilment of this wish was out of the
question, being against the desire of his parents, of whom especially
the mother seems to have been glad that he did not execute his project
of coming home.
I would not like to be a burden to my father; were it not for
this fear I should return home at once. I am often in such a
mood that I curse the moment of my departure from my sweet
home! You will understand my situation, and that since the
departure of Titus too much has fallen upon me all at once.
The question whether he should go to Italy or to France was soon decided
for him, for the suppressed but constantly-increasing commotion which
had agitated the former country ever since the July revolution at last
vented itself in a series of insurrections. Modena began on February
3,1831, Bologna, Ancona, Parma, and Rome followed. While the "where to
go" was thus settled, the "when to go" remained an open question for
many months to come. Meanwhile let us try to look a little deeper into
the inner and outer life which Chopin lived at Vienna.
The biographical details of this period of Chopin's life have to
be drawn almost wholly from his letters. These, however, must be
judiciously used. Those addressed to his parents, important as they are,
are only valuable with regard to the composer's outward life, and even
as vehicles of such facts they are not altogether trustworthy, for it
is always his endeavour to make his parents believe that he is well and
cheery. Thus he writes, for instance, to his friend Matuszyriski, after
pouring forth complaint after complaint:--"Tell my parents that I am
very happy, that I am in want of nothing, that I amuse myself famously,
and never feel lonely." Indeed, the Spectator's opinion that nothing
discovers the true temper of a person so much as his letters, requires
a good deal of limitation and qualification. Johnson's ideas on the same
subject may be recommended as a corrective. He held that there was
no transaction which offered stronger temptations to fallacy and
sophistication than epistolary intercourse:--
In the eagerness of conversation the first emotions of the
mind burst out before they are considered. In the tumult of
business, interest and passion have their genuine effect; but
a friendly letter is a calm and deliberate performance in the
cool of leisure, in the stillness of solitude, and surely no
man sits down by design to depreciate his own character.
Friendship has no tendency to secure veracity; for by whom
can a man so much wish to be thought better than he is, as by
him whose kindness he desires to gain or keep?
These one-sided statements are open to much criticism, and would make an
excellent theme for an essay. Here, however, we must content ourselves
with simply pointing out that letters are not always calm and deliberate
performances, but exhibit often the eagerness of conversation and the
impulsiveness of passion. In Chopin's correspondence we find this not
unfrequently exemplified. But to see it we must not turn to the letters
addressed to his parents, to his master, and to his acquaintances--there
we find little of the real man and his deeper feelings--but to those
addressed to his bosom-friends, and among them there are none in which
he shows himself more openly than in the two which he wrote on December
25, 1830, and January 1, 1831, to John Matuszynski. These letters are,
indeed, such wonderful revelations of their writer's character that
I should fail in my duty as his biographer were I to neglect to place
before the reader copious extracts from them, in short, all those
passages which throw light on the inner working of this interesting
personality.
Dec. 25, 1830.--I longed indescribably for your letter; you
know why. How happy news of my angel of peace always makes
me! How I should like to touch all the strings which not only
call up stormy feelings, but also awaken again the songs
whose half-dying echo is still flitting on the banks of the
Danube-songs which the warriors of King John Sobieski sang!
You advised me to choose a poet. But you know I am an
undecided being, and succeeded only once in my life in making
a good choice.
The many dinners, soirees, concerts, and balls which I have
to go to only bore me. I am sad, and feel so lonely and
forsaken here. But I cannot live as I would! I must dress,
appear with a cheerful countenance in the salons; but when I
am again in my room I give vent to my feelings on the piano,
to which, as my best friend in Vienna, I disclose all my
sufferings. I have not a soul to whom I can fully unbosom
myself, and yet I must meet everyone like a friend. There
are, indeed, people here who seem to love me, take my
portrait, seek my society; but they do not make up for the
want of you [his friends and relations]. I lack inward peace,
I am at rest only when I read your [his friends' and
relations'] letters, and picture to myself the statue of King
Sigismund, or gaze at the ring [Constantia's], that dear
jewel. Forgive me, dear Johnnie, for complaining so much to
you; but my heart grows lighter when I speak to you thus. To
you I have indeed always told all that affected me. Did you
receive my little note the day before yesterday? Perhaps you
don't care much for my scribbling, for you are at home; but I
read and read your letters again and again.
Dr. Freyer has called on me several times; he had learned
from Schuch that I was in Vienna. He told me a great deal of
interesting news, and enjoyed your letter, which I read to
him up to a certain passage. This passage has made me very
sad. Is she really so much changed in appearance? Perhaps she
was ill? One could easily fancy her being so, as she has a
very sensitive disposition. Perhaps she only appeared so to
you, or was she afraid of anything? God forbid that she
should suffer in any way on my account. Set her mind at rest,
and tell her that as long as my heart beats I shall not cease
to adore her. Tell her that even after my death my ashes
shall be strewn under her feet. Still, all this is yet too
little, and you might tell her a great deal more.
I shall write to her myself; indeed, I would have done so
long ago to free myself from my torments; but if my letter
should fall into strange hands, might this not hurt her
reputation? Therefore, dear friend, be you the interpreter
of my feelings; speak for me, "et j'en conviendrai." These
French words of yours flashed through me like lightning. A
Viennese gentleman who walked beside me in the street when I
was reading your letter, seized me by the arm, and was hardly
able to hold me. He did not know what had happened to me. I
should have liked to embrace and kiss all the passers-by, and
I felt happier than I had done for a long time, for I had
received the first letter from you. Perhaps I weary you,
Johnnie, with my passionateness; but it is difficult for me
to conceal from you anything that moves my heart.
The day before yesterday I dined at Madame Beyer's, her name
is likewise Constantia. I like her society, her having that
indescribably dear Christian name is sufficient to account
for my partiality; it gives me even pleasure when one of her
pocket-handkerchiefs or napkins marked "Constantia" comes
into my hands.
I walked alone, and slowly, into St. Stephen's. The church
was as yet empty. To view the noble, magnificent edifice in a
truly devout spirit I leant against a pillar in the darkest
corner of this house of God. The grandeur of the arched roof
cannot be described, one must see St. Stephen's with one's
own eyes. Around me reigned the profoundest silence, which
was interrupted only by the echoing footsteps of the
sacristan who came to light the candles. Behind me was a
grave, before me a grave, only above me I saw none. At that
moment I felt my loneliness and isolation. When the lights
were burning and the Cathedral began to fill with people, I
wrapped myself up more closely in my cloak (you know the way
in which I used to walk through the suburb of Cracow), and
hastened to be present at the Mass in the Imperial Court
Chapel. Now, however, I walked no longer alone, but passed
through the beautiful streets of Vienna in merry company to
the Hofburg, where I heard three movements of a mass
performed by sleepy musicians. At one o'clock in the morning
I reached my lodgings. I dreamt of you, of her, and of my
dear children [his sisters].
The first thing I did to-day was to indulge myself in
melancholy fantasias on my piano.
Advise me what to do. Please ask the person who has always
exercised so powerful an influence over me in Warsaw, and let
me know her opinion; according to that I shall act.
Let me hear once more from you before you take the field.
Vienna, poste restante. Go and see my parents and Constantia.
Visit my sisters often, as long as you are still in Warsaw,
so that they may think that you are coming to me, and that I
am in the other room. Sit down beside them that they may
imagine I am there too; in one word, be my substitute in the
house of my parents.
I shall conclude, dear Johnnie, for now it is really time.
Embrace all my dear colleagues for me, and believe that I
shall not cease to love you until I cease to love those that
are dearest to me, my parents and her.
My dearest friend, do write me soon a few lines. You may even
show her this letter, if you think fit to do so.
My parents don't know that I write to you. You may tell them
of it, but must by no means show them the letter. I cannot
yet take leave of my Johnnie; but I shall be off presently,
you naughty one! If W...loves you as heartily as I love you,
then would Con...No, I cannot complete the name, my hand is
too unworthy. Ah! I could tear out my hair when I think that
I could be forgotten by her!
My portrait, of which only you and I are to know, is a very
good likeness; if you think it would give her pleasure, I
would send it to her through Schuch.
January 1, 1831.--There you have what you wanted! Have you
received the letter? Have you delivered any of the messages
it contained? To-day I still regret what I have done. I was
full of sweet hopes, and now am tormented by anxiety and
doubts. Perhaps she mocks at me--laughs at me? Perhaps--ah!
does she love me? This is what my passionate heart asks. You
wicked AEsculapius, you were at the theatre, you eyed her
incessantly with your opera-glass; if this is the case a
thunderbolt shall...Do not forfeit my confidence; oh, you! if
I write to you I do so only for my own sake, for you do not
deserve it.
Just now when I am writing I am in a strange state; I feel as
if I were with you [with his dear ones], and were only
dreaming what I see and hear here. The voices which I hear
around me, and to which my ear is not accustomed, make upon
me for the most part only an impression like the rattling of
carriages or any other indifferent noise. Only your voice or
that of Titus could to-day wake me out of my torpor. Life and
death are perfectly alike to me. Tell, however, my parents
that I am very happy, that I am in want of nothing, that I
amuse myself famously, and never feel lonely.
If she mocks at me, tell her the same; but if she inquires
kindly for me, shows some concern about me, whisper to her
that she may make her mind easy; but add also that away from
her I feel everywhere lonely and unhappy. I am unwell, but
this I do not write to my parents. Everybody asks what is the
matter with me. I should like to answer that I have lost my
good spirits. However, you know best what troubles me!
Although there is no lack of entertainment and diversion
here, I rarely feel inclined for amusement.
To-day is the first of January. Oh, how sadly this year
begins for me! I love you [his friends] above all things.
Write as soon as possible. Is she at Radom? Have you thrown
up redoubts? My poor parents! How are my friends faring?
I could die for you, for you all! Why am I doomed to be here
so lonely and forsaken? You can at least open your hearts to
each other and comfort each other. Your flute will have
enough to lament! How much more will my piano have to weep!
You write that you and your regiment are going to take the
field; how will you forward the note? Be sure you do not send
it by a messenger; be cautious! The parents might perhaps--
they might perhaps view the matter in a false light.
I embrace you once more. You are going to the war; return as
a colonel. May all pass off well! Why may I not at least be
your drummer?
Forgive the disorder in my letter, I write as if I were
intoxicated.
The disorder of the letters is indeed very striking; it is great in
the foregoing extracts, and of course ten times greater with the
interspersed descriptions, bits of news, and criticisms on music and
musicians. I preferred separating the fundamental and always-recurring
thoughts, the all-absorbing and predominating feelings, from the more
superficial and passing fancies and affections, and all those
matters which were to him, if not of total indifference, at least of
comparatively little moment; because such a separation enables us to
gain a clearer and fuller view of the inner man and to judge henceforth
his actions and works with some degree of certainty, even where his own
accounts and comments and those of trustworthy witnesses fail us. The
psychological student need not be told to take note of the disorder in
these two letters and of their length (written to the same person within
less than a week, they fill nearly twelve printed pages in Karasowski's
book), he will not be found neglecting such important indications of the
temporary mood and the character of which it is a manifestation. And now
let us take a glance at Chopin's outward life in Vienna.
I have already stated that Chopin and Woyciechowski lived together.
Their lodgings, for which they had to pay their landlady, a baroness,
fifty florins, were on the third story of a house in the Kohlmarkt, and
consisted of three elegant rooms. When his friend left, Chopin thought
the rent too high for his purse, and as an English family was willing
to pay as much as eighty florins, he sublet the rooms and removed to
the fourth story, where he found in the Baroness von Lachmanowicz an
agreeable young landlady, and had equally roomy apartments which cost
him only twenty florins and pleased him quite well. The house was
favourably situated, Mechetti being on the right, Artaria on the left,
and the opera behind; and as people were not deterred by the high stairs
from visiting him, not even old Count Hussarzewski, and a good profit
would accrue to him from those eighty florins, he could afford to laugh
at theprobable dismay of his friends picturing him as "a poor devil
living in a garret," and could do so the more heartily as there was in
reality another story between him and the roof. He gives his people a
very pretty description of his lodgings and mode of life:--
I live on the fourth story, in a fine street, but I have to
strain my eyes in looking out of the window when I wish to
see what is going on beneath. You will find my room in my new
album when I am at home again. Young Hummel [a son of the
composer] is so kind as to draw it for me. It is large and
has five windows; the bed is opposite to them. My wonderful
piano stands on the right, the sofa on the left; between the
windows there is a mirror, in the middle of the room a fine,
large, round mahogany table; the floor is polished. Hush!
"The gentleman does not receive visitors in the afternoon"--
hence I can be amongst you in my thoughts. Early in the
morning the unbearably-stupid servant wakes me; I rise, get
my coffee, and often drink it cold because I forget my
breakfast over my playing. Punctually at nine o'clock appears
my German master; then I generally write; and after that,
Hummel comes to work at my portrait, while Nidecki studies my
concerto. And all this time I remain in my comfortable
dressing-gown, which I do not take off till twelve o'clock.
At that hour a very worthy German makes his appearance, Herr
Leibenfrost, who works in the law-courts here. If the weather
is fine I take a walk with him on the Glacis, then we dine
together at a restaurant, Zur bohmischen Kochin, which is
frequented by all the university students; and finally we go
(as is the custom here) to one of the best coffee-houses.
After this I make calls, return home in the twilight, throw
myself into evening-dress, and must be off to some soiree: to-
day here, to-morrow there. About eleven or twelve (but never
later) I return home, play, laugh, read, lie down, put out
the light, sleep, and dream of you, my dear ones.
If is evident that there was no occasion to fear that Chopin would kill
himself with too hard work. Indeed, the number of friends, or, not to
misuse this sacred name, let us rather say acquaintances, he had, did
not allow him much time for study and composition. In his letters
from Vienna are mentioned more than forty names of families and single
individuals with whom he had personal intercourse. I need hardly add
that among them there was a considerable sprinkling of Poles. Indeed,
the majority of the houses where he was oftenest seen, and where he felt
most happy, were those of his countrymen, or those in which there was at
least some Polish member, or which had some Polish connection. Already
on December 1, 1830, he writes home that he had been several times at
Count Hussarzewski's, and purposes to pay a visit at Countess Rosalia
Rzewuska's, where he expects to meet Madame Cibbini, the daughter
of Leopold Kozeluch and a pupil of Clementi, known as a pianist and
composer, to whom Moscheles dedicated a sonata for four hands, and who
at that time was first lady-in-waiting to the Empress of Austria. Chopin
had likewise called twice at Madame Weyberheim's. This lady, who was a
sister of Madame Wolf and the wife of a rich banker, invited him to a
soiree "en petit cercle des amateurs," and some weeks later to a soiree
dansante, on which occasion he saw "many young people, beautiful, but
not antique [that is to say not of the Old Testament kind], "refused
to play, although the lady of the house and her beautiful daughters had
invited many musical personages, was forced to dance a cotillon, made
some rounds, and then went home. In the house of the family Beyer (where
the husband was a Pole of Odessa, and the wife, likewise Polish, bore
the fascinating Christian name Constantia--the reader will remember her)
Chopin felt soon at his ease. There he liked to dine, sup, lounge, chat,
play, dance mazurkas, &c. He often met there the violinist Slavik, and
the day before Christmas played with him all the morning and evening,
another day staying with him there till two o'clock in the morning. We
hear also of dinners at the house of his countrywoman Madame Elkan, and
at Madame Schaschek's, where (he writes in July, 1831) he usually met
several Polish ladies, who by their hearty hopeful words always cheered
him, and where he once made his appearance at four instead of the
appointed dinner hour, two o'clock. But one of his best friends was the
medical celebrity Dr. Malfatti, physician-in-ordinary to the Emperor
of Austria, better remembered by the musical reader as the friend of
Beethoven, whom he attended in his last illness, forgetting what causes
for complaint he might have against the too irritable master. Well,
this Dr. Malfatti received Chopin, of whom he had already heard from
Wladyslaw Ostrowski, "as heartily as if I had been a relation of his"
(Chopin uses here a very bold simile), running up to him and embracing
him as soon as he had got sight of his visiting-card. Chopin became a
frequent guest at the doctor's house; in his letters we come often on
the announcement that he has dined or is going to dine on such or such a
day at Dr. Malfatti's.
December 1, 1830.--On the whole things are going well with
me, and I hope with God's help, who sent Malfatti to my
assistance--oh, excellent Malfatti!--that they will go better
still.
December 25, 1830.--I went to dine at Malfatti's. This
excellent man thinks of everything; he is even so kind as to
set before us dishes prepared in the Polish fashion.
May 14, 1831.--I am very brisk, and feel that good health is
the best comfort in misfortune. Perhaps Malfatti's soups have
strengthened me so much that I feel better than I ever did.
If this is really the case, I must doubly regret that
Malfatti has gone with his family into the country. You have
no idea how beautiful the villa is in which he lives; this
day week I was there with Hummel. After this amiable
physician had taken us over his house he showed us also his
garden. When we stood at the top of the hill, from which we
had a splendid view, we did not wish to go down again. The
Court honours Malfatti every year with a visit. He has the
Duchess of Anhalt-Cothen as a neighbour; I should not wonder
if she envied him his garden. On one side one sees Vienna
lying at one's feet, and in such a way that one might believe
it was joined to Schoenbrunn; on the other side one sees high
mountains picturesquely dotted with convents and villages.
Gazing on this romantic panorama one entirely forgets the
noisy bustle and proximity of the capital.
This is one of the few descriptive passages to be found in Chopin's
letters--men and their ways interested him more than natural scenery.
But to return from the villa to its owner, Chopin characterises
his relation to the doctor unequivocally in the following
statement:--"Malfatti really loves me, and I am not a little proud of
it." Indeed, the doctor seems to have been a true friend, ready with act
and counsel. He aided him with his influence in various ways; thus,
for instance, we read that he promised to introduce him to Madame
Tatyszczew, the wife of the Russian Ambassador, and to Baron Dunoi,
the president of the musical society, whom Chopin thought a very useful
personage to know. At Malfatti's he made also the acquaintance of some
artists whom he would, perhaps, have had no opportunity of meeting
elsewhere. One of these was the celebrated tenor Wild. He came to
Malfatti's in the afternoon of Christmas-day, and Chopin, who had been
dining there, says: "I accompanied by heart the aria from Othello, which
he sang in a masterly style. Wild and Miss Heinefetter are the ornaments
of the Court Opera." Of a celebration of Malfatti's name-day Chopin
gives the following graphic account in a letter to his parents, dated
June 25, 1831:-- Mechetti, who wished to surprise him [Malfatti],
persuaded the Misses Emmering and Lutzer, and the Messrs. Wild,
Cicimara, and your Frederick to perform some music at the
honoured man's house; almost from beginning to end the
performance was deserving of the predicate "parfait." I never
heard the quartet from Moses better sung; but Miss Gladkowska
sang "O quante lagrime" at my farewell concert at Warsaw with
much more expression. Wild was in excellent voice, and I
acted in a way as Capellmeister.
To this he adds the note:--
Cicimara said there was nobody in Vienna who accompanied so
well as I. And I thought, "Of that I have been long
convinced." A considerable number of people stood on the
terrace of the house and listened to our concert. The moon
shone with wondrous beauty, the fountains rose like columns
of pearls, the air was filled with the fragrance of the
orangery; in short, it was an enchanting night, and the
surroundings were magnificent! And now I will describe to you
the drawing-room in which we were. High windows, open from
top to bottom, look out upon the terrace, from which one has
a splendid view of the whole of Vienna. The walls are hung
with large mirrors; the lights were faint: but so much the
greater was the effect of the moonlight which streamed
through the windows. The cabinet to the left of the drawing-
room and adjoining it gives, on account of its large
dimensions, an imposing aspect to the whole apartment. The
ingenuousness and courtesy of the host, the elegant and
genial society, the generally-prevailing joviality, and the
excellent supper, kept us long together.
Here Chopin is seen at his best as a letter writer; it would be
difficult to find other passages of equal excellence. For, although
we meet frequently enough with isolated pretty bits, there is not one
single letter which, from beginning to end, as a whole as well as in its
parts, has the perfection and charm of Mendelssohn's letters.