1836--1838.
THE LOVES OF CELEBRITIES.--VARIOUS ACCOUNTS OF CHOPIN AND GEORGE SAND'S
FIRST MEETING.--CHOPIN'S FIRST IMPRESSION OF HER.--A COMPARISON OF THE
TWO CHARACTERS.--PORTRAYALS OF CHOPIN AND GEORGE SAND.--HER POWER OF
PLEASING.--CHOPIN'S PUBLICATIONS IN 1837 AND 1838.--HE PLAYS AT COURT
AND AT CONCERTS IN PARIS AND ROUEN.--CRITICISM.
THE loves of famous men and women, especially of those connected with
literature and the fine arts, have always excited much curiosity. In the
majority of cases the poet's and artist's choice of a partner falls on a
person who is incapable of comprehending his aims and sometimes even of
sympathising with his striving. The question "why poets are so apt to
choose their mates, not for any similarity of poetical endowment,
but for qualities which might make the happiness of the rudest
handicrafts-man as well as that of the ideal craftsman" has perhaps
never been better answered than by Nathaniel Hawthorne, who remarks that
"at his highest elevation the poet needs no human intercourse; but he
finds it dreary to descend, and be a stranger." Still, this is by no
means a complete solution of the problem which again and again presents
itself and challenges our ingenuity. Chopin and George Sand's
case belongs to the small minority of loves where both parties are
distinguished practitioners of ideal crafts. Great would be the mistake,
however, were we to assume that the elective affinities of such lovers
are easily discoverable On the contrary, we have here another problem,
one which, owing to the higher, finer, and more varied factors that come
into play, is much more difficult to solve than the first. But before we
can engage in solving the problem, it must be properly propounded. Now,
to ascertain facts about the love-affairs of poets and artists is the
very reverse of an easy task; and this is so partly because the parties
naturally do not let outsiders into all their secrets, and partly
because romantic minds and imaginative litterateurs are always busy
developing plain facts and unfounded rumours into wonderful myths. The
picturesqueness of the story, the piquancy of the anecdote, is generally
in inverse proportion to the narrator's knowledge of the matter
in question. In short, truth is only too often most unconscionably
sacrificed to effect. Accounts, for instance, such as L. Enault and
Karasowski have given of Chopin's first meeting with George Sand can be
recommended only to those who care for amusing gossip about the world of
art, and do not mind whether what they read is the simple truth or not,
nay, do not mind even whether it has any verisimilitude. Nevertheless,
we will give these gentlemen a hearing, and then try if we cannot find
some firmer ground to stand on.
L. Enault relates that Chopin and George Sand met for the first time at
one of the fetes of the Marquis de C., where the aristocracy of Europe
assembled--the aristocracy of genius, of birth, of wealth, of beauty,
&c.:--
The last knots of the chaine anglaise had already been untied,
the brilliant crowd had left the ball-room, the murmur of
discreet conversation was heard in the boudoirs: the fetes of
the intimate friends began. Chopin seated himself at the
piano. He played one of those ballads whose words are written
by no poet, but whose subjects, floating in the dreamy soul of
nations, belong to the artist who likes to take them. I
believe it was the Adieux du Cavalier...Suddenly, in the
middle of the ballad, he perceived, close to the door,
immovable and pale, the beautiful face of Lelia. [FOOTNOTE:
This name of the heroine of one of her romances is often given
to George Sand. See Vol. I., p. 338.] She fixed her passionate
and sombre eyes upon him; the impressionable artist felt at
the same time pain and pleasure... others might listen to him:
he played only for her.
They met again.
From this moment fears vanished, and these two noble souls
understood each other... or believed they understood each
other.
Karasowski labours hard to surpass Enault, but is not like him a master
of the ars artem celare. The weather, he tells us, was dull and damp,
and had a depressing effect on the mind of Chopin. No friend had visited
him during the day, no book entertained him, no musical idea gladdened
him. It was nearly ten o'clock at night (the circumstantiality of the
account ought to inspire confidence) when he bethought himself of paying
a visit to the Countess C. (the Marquis, by some means, magical or
natural, has been transformed into a Countess), this being her jour
fixe, on which an intellectual and agreeable company was always
assembled at her house.
When he ascended the carpet-covered stairs [Unfortunately we
are not informed whether the carpet was Turkey, Brussels, or
Kidderminster], it seemed to him as if he were followed by a
shadow that diffused a fragrance of violets [Ah!], and a
presentiment as if something strange and wonderful were going
to happen to him flashed through his soul. He was on the point
of turning back and going home, but, laughing at his own
superstition, he bounded lightly and cheerfully over the last
steps.
Skipping the fine description of the brilliant company assembled in the
salon, the enumeration of the topics on which the conversation ran, and
the observation that Chopin, being disinclined to talk, seated himself
in a corner and watched the beautiful ladies as they glided hither and
thither, we will join Karasowski again where, after the departure of
the greater number of the guests, Chopin goes to the piano and begins to
improvise.
His auditors, whom he, absorbed in his own thoughts and
looking only at the keys, had entirely forgotten, listened
with breathless attention. When he had concluded his
improvisation, he raised his eyes, and noticed a plainly-
dressed lady who, leaning on the instrument, seemed to wish to
read his soul with her dark fiery eyes. [Although a severe
critic might object to the attitude of a lady leaning on a
piano as socially and pictorially awkward, he must admit that
from a literary point of view it is unquestionably more
effective than sitting or standing by the door.] Chopin felt
he was blushing under the fascinating glances of the lady
[Bravo! This is a master-touch]; she smiled [Exquisite!], and
when the artist was about to withdraw from the company behind
a group of camellias, he heard the peculiar rustling of a silk
dress, which exhaled a fragrance of violets [Camellias,
rustling silks, fragrance of violets! What a profusion of
beauty and sweetness!], and the same lady who had watched him
so inquiringly at the piano approached him accompanied by
Liszt. Speaking to him with a deep, sweet voice, she made some
remarks on his playing, and more especially on the contents of
his improvisation. Frederick listened to her with pleasure and
emotion, and while words full of sparkling wit and
indescribable poetry flowed from the lady's eloquent lips
[Quite a novel representation of her powers of conversation],
he felt that he was understood as he had never been.
All this is undoubtedly very pretty, and would be invaluable in a novel,
but I am afraid we should embarrass Karasowski were we to ask him to
name his authorities.
Of this meeting at the house of the Marquis de C.--i.e., the Marquis de
Custine--I was furnished with a third version by an eye-witness--namely,
by Chopin's pupil Adolph Gutmann. From him I learned that the occasion
was neither a full-dress ball nor a chance gathering of a jour fixe, but
a musical matinee. Gutmann, Vidal (Jean Joseph), and Franchomme opened
the proceedings with a trio by Mayseder, a composer the very existence
of whose once popular chamber-music is unknown to the present
generation. Chopin played a great deal, and George Sand devoured him
with her eyes. Afterwards the musician and the novelist walked together
a long time in the garden. Gutmann was sure that this matinee took place
either in 1836 or in 1837, and was inclined to think that it was in the
first-mentioned year.
Franchomme, whom I questioned about the matinee at the Marquis
de Custine's, had no recollection of it. Nor did he remember the
circumstance of having on this or any other occasion played a trio
of Mayseder's with Gutmann and Vidal. But this friend of the Polish
pianist--composer, while confessing his ignorance as to the place where
the latter met the great novelist for the first time, was quite certain
as to the year when he met her. Chopin, Franchomme informed me, made
George Sand's acquaintance in 1837, their connection was broken in 1847,
and he died, as everyone knows, on October 17, 1849. In each of these
dates appears the number which Chopin regarded with a superstitious
dread, which he avoided whenever he could-for instance, he would not
at any price take lodgings in a house the number of which contained a
seven--and which may be thought by some to have really exercised a fatal
influence over him. It is hardly necessary to point out that it was this
fatal number which fixed the date in Franchomme's memory.
But supposing Chopin and George Sand to have really met at the Marquis
de Custine's, was this their first meeting?
[FOONOTE: That they were on one occasion both present at a party given
by the Marquis de Custine may be gathered from Freiherr von Flotow's
Reminiscences of his life in Paris (published in the "Deutsche Revue"
of January, 1883, p. 65); but not that this was their first meeting,
nor the time when it took place. As to the character of this dish
of reminiscences, I may say that it is sauced and seasoned for the
consumption of the blase magazine reader, and has no nutritive substance
whatever.]
I put the question to Liszt in the course of a conversation I had with
him some years ago in Weimar. His answer was most positive, and to the
effect that the first meeting took place at Chopin's own apartments.
"I ought to know best," he added, "seeing that I was instrumental in
bringing the two together." Indeed, it would be difficult to find a more
trustworthy witness in this matter than Liszt, who at that time not
only was one of the chief comrades of Chopin, but also of George Sand.
According to him, then, the meeting came about in this way. George
Sand, whose curiosity had been excited both by the Polish musician's
compositions and by the accounts she had heard of him, expressed to
Liszt the wish to make the acquaintance of his friend. Liszt thereupon
spoke about her to Chopin, but the latter was averse to having any
intercourse with her. He said he did not like literary women, and was
not made for their society; it was different with his friend, who there
found himself in his element. George Sand, however, did not cease to
remind Liszt of his promise to introduce her to Chopin. One morning in
the early part of 1837 Liszt called on his friend and brother-artist,
and found him in high spirits on account of some compositions he had
lately finished. As Chopin was anxious to play them to his friends, it
was arranged to have in the evening a little party at his rooms.
This seemed to Liszt an excellent opportunity to redeem the promise
which he had given George Sand when she asked for an introduction; and,
without telling Chopin what he was going to do, he brought her with him
along with the Comtesse d'Agoult. The success of the soiree was such
that it was soon followed by a second and many more.
In the foregoing accounts the reader will find contradictions enough to
exercise his ingenuity upon. But the involuntary tricks of memory and
the voluntary ones of imagination make always such terrible havoc of
facts that truth, be it ever so much sought and cared for, appears
in history and biography only in a more or less disfigured condition.
George Sand's own allusion to the commencement of the acquaintance
agrees best with Liszt's account. After passing in the latter part of
1836 some months in Switzerland with Liszt and the Comtesse d'Agoult,
she meets them again at Paris in the December of the same year:--
At the Hotel de France, where Madame d'Agoult had persuaded me
to take quarters near her, the conditions of existence were
charming for a few days. She received many litterateurs,
artists, and some clever men of fashion. It was at Madame
d'Agoult's, or through her, that I made the acquaintance of
Eugene Sue, Baron d'Eckstein, Chopin, Mickiewicz, Nourrit,
Victor Schoelcher, &c. My friends became also hers. Through me
she got acquainted with M. Lamennais, Pierre-Leroux, Henri
Heine, &c. Her salon, improvised in an inn, was therefore a
reunion d'elite over which she presided with exquisite grace,
and where she found herself the equal of all the eminent
specialists by reason of the extent of her mind and the
variety of her faculties, which were at once poetic and
serious. Admirable music was performed there, and in the
intervals one could instruct one's self by listening to the
conversation.
To reconcile Liszt's account with George Sand's remark that Chopin was
one of those whose acquaintance she made at Madame d'Agoult's or through
her, we have only to remember the intimate relation in which Liszt stood
to this lady (subsequently known in literature under the nom de plume of
Daniel Stern), who had left her husband, the Comte d'Agoult, in 1835.
And now at last we can step again from the treacherous quicksand of
reminiscences on the terra firma of documents. The following extracts
from some letters of George Sand's throw light on her relation to Chopin
in the early part of 1837:--
Nohant, March 28, 1837.
[To Franz Liszt.]...Come and see us as soon as possible. Love,
esteem, and friendship claim you at Nohant. Love (Marie
[FOOTNOTE: The Comtesse d'Agoult.]) is some what ailing,
esteem (Maurice and Pelletan [FOOTNOTE: The former, George
Sand's son; the latter, Eugene Pelletan, Maurice's tutor.])
pretty well, and friendship (myself) obese and in excellent
health.
Marie told me that there was some hope of Chopin. Tell Chopin
that I beg of him to accompany you; that Marie cannot live
without him, and that I adore him.
I shall write to Grzymala personally in order to induce him
also, if I can, to come and see us. I should like to be able
to surround Marie with all her friends, in order that she also
may live in the bosom of love, esteem, and friendship.
[FOOTNOTE: Albert Grzymala, a man of note among the Polish refugees.
He was a native of Dunajowce in Podolia, had held various military
and other posts--those of maitre des requites, director of the Bank of
Poland, attache to the staff of Prince Poniatowski, General Sebastiani,
and Lefebvre, &c.--and was in 1830 sent by the Polish Government on
a diplomatic mission to Berlin, Paris, and London. (See L'Amanach de
L'Emigration polonaise, published at Paris some forty years ago.) He
must not be confounded with the publicist Francis Grzymala, who at
Warsaw was considered one of the marechaux de plume, and at Paris was
connected with the Polish publication Sybilla. With one exception (Vol.
I., p. 3), the Grzymala spoken of in these volumes is Albert Grzymala,
sometimes also called Count Grzymala. This title, however, was, if I am
rightly informed, only a courtesy title. The Polish nobility as such was
untitled, titles being of foreign origin and not legally recognised.
But many Polish noblemen when abroad assume the prefix de or von, or the
title "Count," in order to make known their rank.]
Nohant, April 5, 1837.
[To the Comtesse d'Agoult.]...Tell Mick....[FOOTNOTE:
Mickiewicz, the poet.] (non-compromising manner of writing
Polish names) that my pen and my house are at his service, and
are only too happy to be so; tell Grzy...., [FOOTNOTE:
Gryzmala] whom I adore, Chopin, whom I idolatrise, and all
those whom you love that I love them, and that, brought by
you, they will be welcome. Berry in a body watches for the
maestro's [FOOTNOTE: Liszt's] return in order to hear him play
the piano. I believe we shall be obliged to place le garde-
champetre and la garde nationals of Nohant under arms in order
to defend ourselves against the dilettanti berrichoni.
Nohant, April 10, 1837.
[To the Comtesse d'Agoult.] I want the fellows, [FOOTNOTE:
"Fellows" (English) was the nickname which Liszt gave to
himself and his pupil Hermann Cohen.] I want them as soon and
as LONG as possible. I want them a mort. I want also Chopin
and all the Mickiewiczs and Grzymalas in the world. I want
even Sue if you want him. What more would I not want if that
were your fancy? For instance, M. de Suzannet or Victor
Schoelcher! Everything, a lover excepted.
Nohant, April 21, 1837.
[To the Comtesse d'Agoult.] Nobody has permitted himself to
breathe the air of your room since you left it. Arrangements
will be made to put up all those you may bring with you. I
count on the maestro, on Chopin, on the Rat, [FOOTNOTE:
Liszt's pupil, Hermann Cohen.] if he does not weary you too
much, and all the others at your choice.
Chopin's love for George Sand was not instantaneous like that of Romeo
for Juliet. Karasowski remembers having read in one of those letters of
the composer which perished in 1863: "Yesterday I met George Sand...;
she made a very disagreeable impression upon me." Hiller in his Open
Letter to Franz Liszt writes:--
One evening you had assembled in your apartments the
aristocracy of the French literary world--George Sand was of
course one of the company. On the way home Chopin said to me
"What a repellent [antipathische] woman the Sand is! But is
she really a woman? I am inclined to doubt it."
Liszt, in discussing this matter with me, spoke only of Chopin's
"reserve" towards George Sand, but said nothing of his "aversion" to
her. And according to this authority the novelist's extraordinary mind
and attractive conversation soon overcame the musician's reserve. Alfred
de Musset's experience had been of a similar nature. George Sand did
not particularly please him at first, but a few visits which he paid her
sufficed to inflame his heart with a violent passion. The liaisons
of the poet and musician with the novelist offer other points of
resemblance besides the one just mentioned: both Musset and Chopin were
younger than George Sand--the one six, the other five years; and both,
notwithstanding the dissimilarity of their characters, occupied the
position of a weaker half. In the case of Chopin I am reminded of a
saying of Sydney Smith, who, in speaking of his friends the historian
Grote and his wife, remarked: "I do like them both so much, for he is
so lady-like, and she is such a perfect gentleman." Indeed, Chopin was
described to me by his pupil Gutmann as feminine in looks, gestures, and
taste; as to George Sand, although many may be unwilling to admit her
perfect gentlemanliness, no one can doubt her manliness:--
Dark and olive-complexioned Lelia! [writes Liszt] thou hast
walked in solitary places, sombre as Lara, distracted as
Manfred, rebellious as Cain, but more fierce [farouche], more
pitiless, more inconsolable than they, because thou hast found
among the hearts of men none feminine enough to love thee as
they have been loved, to pay to thy virile charms the tribute
of a confiding and blind submission, of a silent and ardent
devotion, to suffer his allegiance to be protected by thy
Amazonian strength!
The enthusiasm with which the Poles of her acquaintance spoke of their
countrywomen, and the amorous suavity, fulness of feeling, and spotless
nobleness which she admired in the Polish composer's inspirations, seem
to have made her anticipate, even before meeting Chopin, that she would
find in him her ideal lover, one whose love takes the form of worship.
To quote Liszt's words: "She believed that there, free from all
dependence, secure against all inferiority, her role would rise to the
fairy-like power of some being at once the superior and the
friend of man." Were it not unreasonable to regard spontaneous
utterances--expressions of passing moods and fancies, perhaps
mere flights of rhetoric--as well-considered expositions of stable
principles, one might be tempted to ask: Had George Sand found in Chopin
the man who was "bold or vile enough" to accept her "hard and clear"
conditions? [FOOTNOTE: See extract from one of her letters in the
preceding chapter, Vol. I., p. 334.]
While the ordinary position of man and woman was entirely reversed in
this alliance, the qualities which characterised them can nevertheless
hardly ever have been more nearly diametrically opposed. Chopin was weak
and undecided; George Sand strong and energetic. The former shrank from
inquiry and controversy; the latter threw herself eagerly into them.
[FOOTNOTE: George Sand talks much of the indolence of her temperament:
we may admit this fact, but must not overlook another one--namely, that
she was in possession of an immense fund of energy, and was always ready
to draw upon it whenever speech or action served her purpose or fancy.]
The one was a strict observer of the laws of propriety and an almost
exclusive frequenter of fashionable society; the other, on the contrary,
had an unmitigated scorn for the so-called proprieties and so-called
good society. Chopin's manners exhibited a studied refinement, and no
woman could be more particular in the matter of dress than he was. It
is characteristic of the man that he was so discerning a judge of the
elegance and perfection of a female toilette as to be able to tell at a
glance whether a dress had been made in a first-class establishment or
in an inferior one. The great composer is said to have had an unlimited
admiration for a well-made and well-carried (bien porte) dress. Now what
a totally different picture presents itself when we turn to George Sand,
who says of herself, in speaking of her girlhood, that although never
boorish or importunate, she was always brusque in her movements and
natural in her manners, and had a horror of gloves and profound
bows. Her fondness for male garments is as characteristic as Chopin's
connoisseurship of the female toilette; it did not end with her student
life, for she donned them again in 1836 when travelling in Switzerland.
The whole of Chopin's person was harmonious. "His appearance," says
Moscheles, who saw him in 1839, "is exactly like his music [ist
identificirt mit seiner Musik], both are tender and schwarmerisch."
[FOOTNOTE: I shall not attempt to translate this word, but I will
give the reader a recipe. Take the notions "fanciful," "dreamy," and
"enthusiastic" (in their poetic sense), mix them well, and you have a
conception of schwarmerisck.]
A slim frame of middle height; fragile but wonderfully flexible limbs;
delicately-formed hands; very small feet; an oval, softly-outlined head;
a pale, transparent complexion; long silken hair of a light chestnut
colour, parted on one side; tender brown eyes, intelligent rather than
dreamy; a finely-curved aquiline nose; a sweet subtle smile; graceful
and varied gestures: such was the outward presence of Chopin. As to the
colour of the eyes and hair, the authorities contradict each other most
thoroughly. Liszt describes the eyes as blue, Karasowski as dark brown,
and M. Mathias as "couleur de biere." [FOOTNOTE: This strange expression
we find again in Count Wodzinski's Les trois Romans de Frederic Chopin,
where the author says: "His large limpid, expressive, and soft eyes
had that tint which the English call auburn, which the Poles, his
compatriots, describe as piwne (beer colour), and which the French would
denominate brown."] Of the hair Liszt says that it was blonde, Madame
Dubois and others that it was cendre, Miss L. Ramann that it was dark
blonde, and a Scotch lady that it was dark brown. [FOOTNOTE: Count
Wodzinski writes: "It was not blonde, but of a shade similar to that of
his eyes: ash-coloured (cendre), with golden reflections in the light."]
Happily the matter is settled for us by an authority to which all others
must yield--namely, by M. T. Kwiatkowski, the friend and countryman of
Chopin, an artist who has drawn and painted the latter frequently. Well,
the information I received from him is to the effect that Chopin had
des yeux bruns tendres (eyes of a tender brown), and les cheveux blonds
chatains (chestnut-blonde hair). Liszt, from whose book some of the
above details are derived, completes his portrayal of Chopin by some
characteristic touches. The timbre of his voice, he says, was subdued
and often muffled; and his movements had such a distinction and
his manners such an impress of good society that one treated him
unconsciously like a prince. His whole appearance made one think of
that of the convolvuli, which on incredibly slender stems balance
divinely-coloured chalices of such vapourous tissue that the slightest
touch destroys them.
And whilst Liszt attributes to Chopin all sorts of feminine graces and
beauties, he speaks of George Sand as an Amazon, a femme-heros, who is
not afraid to expose her masculine countenance to all suns and winds.
Merimee says of George Sand that he has known her "maigre comme un clou
et noire comme une taupe." Musset, after their first meeting, describes
her, to whom he at a subsequent period alludes as femme a l'oeil sombre,
thus:--
She is very beautiful; she is the kind of woman I like--brown,
pale, dull-complexioned with reflections as of bronze, and
strikingly large-eyed like an Indian. I have never been able
to contemplate such a countenance without inward emotion. Her
physiognomy is rather torpid, but when it becomes animated it
assumes a remarkably independent and proud expression.
The most complete literary portrayal of George Sand that has been handed
down to us, however, is by Heine. He represents her as Chopin knew
her, for although he published the portrait as late as 1854 he did not
represent her as she then looked; indeed, at that time he had probably
no intercourse with her, and therefore was obliged to draw from memory.
The truthfulness of Heine's delineation is testified by the approval of
many who knew George Sand, and also by Couture's portrait of her:--
George Sand, the great writer, is at the same time a beautiful
woman. She is even a distinguished beauty. Like the genius
which manifests itself in her works, her face is rather to be
called beautiful than interesting. The interesting is always a
graceful or ingenious deviation from the type of the
beautiful, and the features of George Sand bear rather the
impress of a Greek regularity. Their form, however, is not
hard, but softened by the sentimentality which is suffused
over them like a veil of sorrow. The forehead is not high, and
the delicious chestnut-brown curly hair falls parted down to
the shoulders. Her eyes are somewhat dim, at least they are
not bright, and their fire may have been extinguished by many
tears, or may have passed into her works, which have spread
their flaming brands over the whole world, illumined many a
comfortless prison, but perhaps also fatally set on fire many
a temple of innocence. The authoress of "Lelia" has quiet,
soft eyes, which remind one neither of Sodom nor of Gomorrah.
She has neither an emancipated aquiline nose nor a witty
little snub nose. It is just an ordinary straight nose. A good-
natured smile plays usually around her mouth, but it is not
very attractive; the somewhat hanging under-lip betrays
fatigued sensuality. The chin is full and plump, but
nevertheless beautifully proportioned. Also her shoulders are
beautiful, nay, magnificent. Likewise her arms and hands,
which, like her feet, are small. Let other contemporaries
describe the charms of her bosom, I confess my incompetence.
The rest of her bodily frame seems to be somewhat too stout,
at least too short. Only her head bears the impress of
ideality; it reminds one of the noblest remains of Greek art,
and in this respect one of our friends could compare the
beautiful woman to the marble statue of the Venus of Milo,
which stands in one of the lower rooms of the Louvre. Yes, she
is as beautiful as the Venus of Milo; she even surpasses the
latter in many respects: she is, for instance, very much
younger. The physiognomists who maintain that the voice of man
reveals his character most unmistakably would be much at a
loss if they were called upon to detect George Sand's
extraordinary depth of feeling [Innigkeit] in her voice. The
latter is dull and faded, without sonority, but soft and
agreeable. The naturalness of her speaking lends it some
charm. Of vocal talent she exhibits not a trace! George Sand
sings at best with the bravura of a beautiful grisette who has
not yet breakfasted or happens not to be in good voice. The
organ of George Sand has as little brilliancy as what she
says. She has nothing whatever of the sparkling esprit of her
countrywomen, but also nothing of their talkativeness. The
cause of this taciturnity, however, is neither modesty nor
sympathetic absorption in the discourse of another. She is
taciturn rather from haughtiness, because she does not think
you worth squandering her cleverness [Geist] upon, or even
from selfishness, because she endeavours to absorb the best of
your discourse in order to work it up afterwards in her works.
That out of avarice George Sand knows how never to give
anything and always to take something in conversation, is a
trait to which Alfred de Musset drew my attention. "This gives
her a great advantage over us," said Musset, who, as he had
for many years occupied the post of cavaliere servente to the
lady, had had the best opportunity to learn to know her
thoroughly. George Sand never says anything witty; she is
indeed one of the most unwitty Frenchwomen I know.
While admiring the clever drawing and the life-like appearance of
the portrait, we must, however, not overlook the exaggerations and
inaccuracies. The reader cannot have failed to detect the limner
tripping with regard to Musset, who occupied not many years but less
than a year the post of cavaliere servente. But who would expect
religious adherence to fact from Heine, who at all times distinguishes
himself rather by wit than conscientiousness? What he says of George
Sand's taciturnity in company and want of wit, however, must be true;
for she herself tells us of these negative qualities in the Histoire de
ma Vie.
The musical accomplishments of Chopin's beloved one have, of course, a
peculiar interest for us. Liszt, who knew her so well, informed me that
she was not musical, but possessed taste and judgment. By "not musical"
he meant no doubt that she was not in the habit of exhibiting her
practical musical acquirements, or did not possess these latter to any
appreciable extent. She herself seems to me to make too much of her
musical talents, studies, and knowledge. Indeed, her writings show
that, whatever her talents may have been, her taste was vague and her
knowledge very limited.
When we consider the diversity of character, it is not a matter for
wonder that Chopin was at first rather repelled than attracted by the
personality of George Sand. Nor is it, on the other hand, a matter for
wonder that her beauty and power of pleasing proved too strong for
his antipathy. How great this power of pleasing was when she wished to
exercise it, the reader may judge from the incident I shall now relate.
Musset's mother, having been informed of her son's projected tour to
Italy, begged him to give it up. The poet promised to comply with
her request: "If one must weep, it shall not be you," he said. In the
evening George Sand came in a carriage to the door and asked for Madame
Musset; the latter came out, and after a short interview gave her
consent to her son's departure. Chopin's unsuccessful wooing of Miss
Wodzinska and her marriage with Count Skarbek in this year (1837) may
not have been without effect on the composer. His heart being left
bruised and empty was as it were sensitised (if I may use this
photographic term) for the reception of a new impression by the action
of love. In short, the intimacy between Chopin and George Sand grew
steadily and continued to grow till it reached its climax in the autumn
of 1838, when they went together to Majorca. Other matters, however,
have to be adverted to before we come to this passage of Chopin's life.
First I shall have to say a few words about his artistic activity during
the years 1837 and 1838.
Among the works composed by Chopin in 1837 was one of the Variations
on the March from I Puritani, which were published under the title
Hexameron: Morceau de Concert. Grandes variations de bravoure sur la
marche des Puritains de Bellini, composees pour le concert de Madame la
Princesse Belgiojoso au benefice des pauvres, par M.M. Liszt, Thalberg,
Pixis, H. Herz, Czerny, et Chopin. This co-operative undertaking was
set on foot by the Princess, and was one of her many schemes to procure
money for her poor exiled countrymen. Liszt played these Variations
often at his concerts, and even wrote orchestral accompaniments to them,
which, however, were never published.
Chopin's publications of the year 1837 are: in October, Op. 25, Douze
Etudes, dedicated to Madame la Comtesse d'Agoult; and in December, Op.
29, Impromptu (in A flat major), dedicated to Mdlle. la Comtesse de
Lobau; Op. 30, Quatre Mazurkas, dedicated to Madame la Princesse de
Wurtemberg, nee Princesse Czartoryska; Op. 31, Deuxieme Scherzo (B flat
minor), dedicated to Mdlle. la Comtesse Adele de Furstenstein; and Op.
32, Deux Nocturnes (B major and A flat major), dedicated to Madame la
Baronne de Billing. His publications of the year 1838 are: in October,
Op. 33, Quatre Mazurkas, dedicated to Mdlle. la Comtesse Mostowska; and,
in December, Op. 34, Trois Valses brillantes (A flat major, A minor, and
F major), respectively dedicated to Mdlle. de Thun-Hohenstein, Madame G.
d'Ivri, and Mdlle. A. d'Eichthal. This last work appeared at Paris
first in an Album des Pianistes, a collection of unpublished pieces by
Thalberg, Chopin, Doehler, Osborne, Liszt, and Mereaux. Two things in
connection with this album may yet be mentioned--namely, that Mereaux
contributed to it a Fantasia on a mazurka by Chopin, and that Stephen
Heller reviewed it in the Gazette musicale. Chopin was by no means
pleased with the insertion of the waltzes in Schlesinger's Album des
Pianistes. But more of this and his labours and grievances as a composer
in the next chapter.
There are also to be recorded some public and semi-public appearances of
Chopin as a virtuoso. On February 25, 1838, the Gazette musicale
informs its readers that Chopin, "that equally extraordinary and modest
pianist," had lately been summoned to Court to be heard there en cercle
intime. His inexhaustible improvisations, which almost made up the
whole of the evening's entertainment, were particularly admired by the
audience, which knew as well as a gathering of artists how to appreciate
the composer's merits. At a concert given by Valentin Alkan on March 3,
1838, Chopin performed with Zimmermann, Gutmann, and the concert-giver,
the latter's arrangement of Beethoven's A major Symphony (or rather some
movements from it) for two pianos and eight hands. And in the Gazette
musicale of March 25, 1838, there is a report by M. Legouve of Chopin's
appearance at a concert given by his countryman Orlowski at Rouen, where
the latter had settled after some years stay in Paris. From a writer in
the Journal de Rouen (December 1, 1849) we learn that ever since this
concert, which was held in the town-hall, and at which the composer
played his E minor Concerto with incomparable perfection, the name of
Chopin had in the musical world of Rouen a popularity which secured to
his memory an honourable and cordial sympathy. But here is what Legouve
says about this concert. I transcribe the notice in full, because it
shows us both how completely Chopin had retired from the noise and
strife of publicity, and how high he stood in the estimation of his
contemporaries.
Here is an event which is not without importance in the
musical world. Chopin, who has not been heard in public for
several years; Chopin, who imprisons his charming genius in an
audience of five or six persons; Chopin, who resembles those
enchanted isles where so many marvels are said to abound that
one regards them as fabulous; Chopin, whom one can never
forget after having once heard him; Chopin has just given a
grand concert at Rouen before 500 people for the benefit of a
Polish professor. Nothing less than a good action to be done
and the remembrance of his country could have overcome his
repugnance to playing in public. Well! the success was
immense! immense! All these enchanting melodies, these
ineffable delicacies of execution, these melancholy and
impassioned inspirations, and all that poesy of playing and of
composition which takes hold at once of your imagination and
heart, have penetrated, moved, enraptured 500 auditors, as
they do the eight or ten privileged persons who listen to him
religiously for whole hours; every moment there were in the
hall those electric fremissements, those murmurs of ecstasy
and astonishment which are the bravos of the soul. Forward
then, Chopin! forward! let this triumph decide you; do not be
selfish, give your beautiful talent to all; consent to pass
for what you are; put an end to the great debate which divides
the artists; and when it shall be asked who is the first
pianist of Europe, Liszt or Thalberg, let all the world reply,
like those who have heard you..."It is Chopin."
Chopin's artistic achievements, however, were not unanimously received
with such enthusiastic approval. A writer in the less friendly La France
musicale goes even so far as to stultify himself by ridiculing, a propos
of the A flat Impromptu, the composer's style. This jackanapes--who
belongs to that numerous class of critics whose smartness of verbiage
combined with obtuseness of judgment is so well-known to the serious
musical reader and so thoroughly despised by him--ignores the spiritual
contents of the work under discussion altogether, and condemns without
hesitation every means of expression which in the slightest degree
deviates from the time-honoured standards. We are told that Chopin's
mode of procedure in composing is this. He goes in quest of an idea,
writes, writes, modulates through all the twenty-four keys, and, if the
idea fails to come, does without it and concludes the little piece very
nicely (tres-bien). And now, gentle reader, ponder on this momentous and
immeasurably sad fact: of such a nature was, is, and ever will be the
great mass of criticism.